


Homecoming

by Velace



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Family, Fluff - of the semi domestic and sickening variety, Gratuitous Smut, Humor, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 68,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velace/pseuds/Velace
Summary: Emma accidentally breaks the curse, returning the people of Storybrooke to the Enchanted Forest. Snow and Charming are oddly forgiving. Regina is unimpressed, the Queen Regent is a surprise Emma doesn't want, and Henry thinks everything is awesome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel bad because I haven't (officially) written anything for almost 2 months. Unofficially, I've been writing this while occasionally being inspired to add the odd sentence/paragraph/scene to stories I should have updated already. I suck, I'm aware of it, so I'm sharing what I started writing because I miss writing For Too Long. 
> 
> I'll update something. Probably. One day. Maybe.

Emma doesn't have a lot of experience with realm jumping (read as; none at all) but she's fairly confident that being swallowed up in a cloud of magic, which then spits her out into a brand new world, isn't meant to turn her on. Regina warned her breaking the curse might send them back to the Enchanted Forest, but she definitely hadn't mentioned that part.

Taking a few seconds to check herself over, she decides her ass is probably just bruised instead of broken like she'd first thought after she'd landed on it. She glances around, seeing all the familiar faces and families reuniting with one another after twenty eight years in stasis, and smiles a little.

As she rises, another familiar face obscures her vision and Regina is suddenly shoving her hands at her. Emma blinks, staring down at them in confusion before she raises her head slowly, and cocks it to the side in question.

"Arrest me before the mob forms," Regina hisses quickly and shoves them at her once more, thrusting them into her stomach.

Emma scoffs. "Then what? Take off my pants and fashion them into a noose to hang you from the nearest tree? It’s been almost thirty years." She shakes her head and slaps the hands away. "Just… shut up and try not to offend anyone when you look at them."

Regina makes a face then and Emma nods. "That one," she says, gesturing at the expression with her finger. "Don't do that. I can handle it, but it'll probably make them feel inferior and then I won't be able to convince them of anything… I mean, if you want to be hanged then feel free but—"

"Emma," Regina interrupts with a smirk. She likes the rambling. Has always liked the rambling but, Emma knows, she’ll never admit it. "Shut up."

Her jaw closes with a click and she narrows her eyes. "Maybe I should arrest you."

Regina snorts. "Sorry dear, you had your chance."

When Mary-Margaret and David wander over, Emma is surprised they don't immediately demand Regina's head. Mary— her _mother_ , she mentally corrects herself— simply inclines hers to her supposed nemesis before she launches herself at her daughter.

Emma catches her, eyes suddenly wide with— shock? Terror? Who knows? She _does_ know she isn't much of a hugger. Her therapist (one of many in her life) said it had something to do with keeping people at a distance and blahblahblah. She had abandonment issues, she hadn't needed to spend hundreds of dollars on a quack to tell her that.

Even more horrifying than being hugged, she realizes her eyes have started to burn and she jerks back. She definitely doesn't need therapy to know why she refuses to cry in front of anyone; she always looks terrible afterward, like maybe she'd shoved her face into a patch of poison ivy and then it’s all red, and puffy, and just wholly unattractive in general.

"Mary-M—"

"Snow," Regina corrects swiftly and Emma glares at her. "What? I thought you'd appreciate the reminder while you try to adapt."

"Thanks," she responds dryly and turns her attention back to her parents. "Hi."

David laughs and Snow looks as though she wants to hug her again. Emma cringes but opens her arms, ready for it this time. Snow doesn't waste a second, clinging to her as she mutters things like _finally_ and _my baby girl_. Emma tries not to sigh too much and returns her father's smile with one of her own.

"You look like me," he says and she immediately understands why Snow thought him charming. His grin is kind of goofy looking but it's warm and does something mushy to her insides.

She wrinkles her nose, torn and touched at once. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"Mom! Ma!" Henry interrupts the moment, running towards them and smacking into his brunette mother with a force that knocks her back a little. Regina blinks down at him in surprise as his little arms go around her waist and he looks up at her with a big, beaming smile. "You did it!"

"We did," she replies, side-glancing Emma who rolls her eyes because Regina makes it sound as if she'd made some kind of great sacrifice when breaking the curse.

Not that Emma wants to think about that.

"So," she drawls, gently patting Snow on the back as she sniffles against her neck. "What now?"

"My," Regina starts but stops just as suddenly. She shakes her head and corrects, "Snow's palace is still standing if we—"

Snow's head snaps up and she glares at the older woman, stunning them all with the vehemence of her words. "No. No way. After all those years as a teacher? I am _not_ taking that throne back,” she growls, pointing at Regina in accusation. “You stole it. You suffer the consequences."

Regina looks outraged. "I never _wanted_ to be Queen!"

"Too bad," Snow replies and Emma breathes a sigh of relief as their hug ends, finally, and Snow takes a step towards Regina. "You wanted it enough to exile me. You can deal with… with these… these—"

"Peasants?" Regina suggests, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Pure as the driven snow." She snorts. "Right."

Snow folds her arms and tilts her head. Emma recognizes her expression immediately as she bites her lip to stifle her laughter. "You either agree, or I spend the rest of our lives asking you how you broke the curse."

Seeing Regina's wide-eyed flush, Emma turns around then and walks away from them, only letting the laughter out once she's sure she’s safe from Regina’s wrath. She'd been confident that when they _did_ break the curse, it wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as Regina claimed. They _are_ fairy tale characters after all and if she's learned anything in twenty eight years, then it's that stories— fairy tales especially— always turn out for the better. The idea that Snow White or even Prince Charming could sentence the mother of their grandchild to death had been, in her opinion, laughable. Her mother might not be what her name implies but if everything Regina has explained to her in the last three months is true, then Snow is far more like Mary-Margaret than she'd probably be comfortable admitting. She is kind, sometimes _too_ kind, and forgiving. Definitely _too_ forgiving, but it's that that Emma counted on when she'd decided to accept and fulfill her so-called destiny.

"Emma," Regina calls to her after a few minutes and she saunters back, hands stuffed in the pockets of her brown leather jacket. "As Queen, my first order of business is to appoint Emma Swan as Captain of my Guard."

Snow gasps. "What? No! She's a Pr—" She chokes on the word as Emma and Regina glare at her in tandem.

"If you are no longer Queen, then she is no longer a Princess, and if you think I'm going to appoint your insipid husb—"

"Regina," Emma murmurs. Anyone else, and she'd have let her finish, and probably laughed about it later. It's clear, however, that Snow is merely worried for her and she'd rather not have to hug her mother again because Regina was mean and made her cry. Besides, David is standing there all dopey and harmless looking, attacking him would be equivalent to kicking a puppy. "I accept. What else?"

Snow's lower lip wobbles but she has sense enough to remain quiet. "I am… uncertain," Regina admits with a sigh, ignoring her. "I know my kingdom has survived thanks to the spells I cast before the curse, though I imagine there will be a great number of unfamiliar faces among them."

"And you think they'll just accept you waltzing back in there and declaring yourself Queen?" Emma questions in disbelief.

She expects Regina to snap at her, to say that of course they will because she's the big bad Evil Queen— maybe not in those words, but _still._ She definitely doesn't expect Snow White to answer for her, but she does.

"Oh they will," she says with all the certainty in the world. "They adored her and I doubt anything has changed. If I overlook all the time she spent trying to find ways to make my life miserable, then even I can admit she was a surprisingly good ruler."

"Good," Regina echoes in a snide tone. "I was certainly better than you, you spoiled, wretched little—"

"Maybe," Snow admits, smirking as Regina sputters at the interruption. "But that only proves my point in that _you_ should be Queen."

Regina does snap then. "I did accept, did I not?" She scowls though it doesn't last as she averts her gaze and sees Henry grinning up at them.

Emma snickers quietly when she hears her sigh. "Okay," she continues where she left off, so many of her questions still needing answers. "I assume you left someone in charge?"

Regina doesn't immediately respond, busy as she is brushing the hair from their son's eyes and Emma repeats the question once she realizes their silence is for her. Regina nods. "My former Captain, Morgan."

Snow groans aloud. "Her, Regina? Really?"

Emma frowns, looking between them. "Something I should know?"

"I believe your mother's distress arises from the time or two she'd caught Morgan and I in bed together."

"A time or two?" Snow shakes her head. "Try five times, Regina. _Five_."

Regina waves dismissively and says, "The woman is in her late fifties now, I can assure you there won't be a sixth."

"Damn straight," Emma mutters in a rare moment of jealousy.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing!" She claims, side-stepping the hand that swipes at her wrist before Regina can grab her. As far as she’s concerned, that did not happen. "So where's this castle and how long is it going to take to get there?"

"Not a castle, dear, a palace," Regina corrects to the retort of _what's the bloody difference?_ She sighs and explains, "A castle is built for defensive purposes and is primarily made out of stone, whereas a palace is more about wealth and luxury—"

"Made out of gold and the sweat and tears of countless slaves?" Emma questions with enough sass for Regina to think her amusing rather than obnoxious as she chuckles and rolls her eyes.

"Marble, actually," she says, taking another swipe at her. Emma lets her this time and earns herself the first genuine smile since she'd destroyed Regina's plans to continue on with her boring life, in her boring town, where nothing not-boring happened day in and day out. "It shouldn't take more than two days, if that."

"Awesome."

 

.

.

.

 

"Totally awesome!"

Regina's eyes grow wider and wider as she watches Henry sail through the air, and she flinches when he hits the lake on his backside, disappearing beneath the surface. Emma had had the idiotic idea to set up a rope swing for the children when they decided to make camp for the night, and she'd been too preoccupied grousing about Snow's decision to lump her with all the responsibility to notice before Henry had stripped to his breeches and joined in the fun.

Raising a hand, she brushes the droplets of water from her face and sighs. A few months earlier, and she'd take great pleasure in imagining all the ways she might torture Emma for this as payback. As it stands, seeing her son smiling and laughing so freely like he has in the last six hours is worth far more than the potential, musical screams of his other mother.

With a grimace, she closes her eyes and rests her head back against the trunk of the tree that's acted as her hiding spot for a good thirty odd minutes now. Not everyone is as thrilled as Snow is at the prospect of her leading them and though she doesn't particularly care, there is such a thing as too much attention when it comes in as many glares as she's tolerated since the announcement.

Emma found her once to ask about the danger of the lake but beyond that, she's kept her distance. It hadn't occurred to Regina at the time that it was because she was only minutes away from being constantly bombarded by children who wanted to cool off after their day in the sun.

Given the alternative, she supposes she won't complain, much; they're certainly preferable company to their adult counterparts. Henry seems to be enjoying himself and that, more than anything else, is the important thing.

"Hey." Cracking an eye open at the voice, she opens the other as David walks in to her line of sight and holds something out to her. "Emma thought you might be hungry."

"And she's too much of a coward to bring this to me herself?" She asks, accepting the makeshift plate (read as; a rather large leaf) with what she now knows is roasted boar.

"Something like that," he says, cheeks dimpling with a grin that reminds her that this is Emma Swan's father, the grandfather of her son, and the man who bears a striking resemblance to both under the right light.

Naturally, the reminder brings forth a sigh that he mistakes for something else entirely.

"If I know my daughter," he begins and she has to bite her tongue. She doubts he knows Emma at all, but he and his wife have been surprisingly forgiving after everything she's done, and she won't risk them changing their minds by reminding him she's the reason he doesn't know his own daughter. "She won't be able to stay away for long."

She snorts. If he truly believes that, then he definitely doesn't know Emma. Other than herself, she doesn't know anyone quite as adept at avoiding their problems as the former Sheriff and though it has nothing to do with her sigh, she decides the subject far safer than the one she'd been contemplating before.

"You underestimate her, Shepherd," she says, looking up at him as she picks up a piece of meat between thumb and forefinger, and pops it into her mouth before she adds, "Your daughter may have inherited your pretty face, but her head is as hard as her mother's."

His grin softens into something resembling a more affectionate smile and she rolls her eyes. She's seen the ridiculous expression on more than one member of the insipid Charming family's faces. She only hopes he's thinking about his wife and daughter, because if it's for her, then the next time she has a biting thought that she thinks might upset him, she's not going to stop herself from saying it aloud.

One idiotic blonde constantly hounding her is bad enough, two is just overkill.

"Thank you for the food," she drawls, staring at him hard until he takes the hint.

"Right." His grin returns and he raises his hands in mock surrender as he takes a step back. "Don't mention it."

As he turns and wanders away, she watches him leave and wonders how many might object if she simply sentenced his family to life in her dungeons.

 

.

.

.

 

She's not avoiding Regina, not really. She's just… confused.

Eight months ago, Emma had been living in Boston where Henry had found her on her birthday. She'd brought him back to Storybrooke after an, admittedly skillful, manipulation on his part when he threatened to call the cops on her and tell them she'd kidnapped him.

On the drive, she'd had every intention of dropping him off, then turning right around and going back to the city to drink herself into forgetting, hopefully waking the next morning with the hangover from hell and the assumption that she'd merely dreamed meeting her son ten years after she'd given him up.

Despite her intentions, the very second she'd caught sight of the attractive woman running down the side-walk in the form-fitting dress and fancy heels— well. Screw intentions, right? She'd accepted a few too many glasses of the best (and only) apple cider she'd ever tasted, gotten fairly tipsy in the process, and found a warm body to share a bed with that night, and quite a few of the nights following.

She stayed for a week, just like she'd promised Henry she would. She hadn't wanted to leave by the end, but it wasn't as if she didn't try. Graham, their Sheriff who she'd barely known, up and died suddenly of a heart attack while she was driving out of a town, and for some reason the Mayor decided she was the perfect replacement and called her back.

Five months later, after a lot of fighting in and out of the sheets, Regina broke and admitted everything; she was the Evil Queen who killed her father in order to enact a curse that brought a bunch of fairy tales to this town no one had ever heard of at the ass end of Maine.

It took Regina a month to convince her she wasn't crazy, took Emma two weeks to accept her _destiny_ , and another for her and Henry to convince Regina they needed to break the curse.

A week later, she'd unofficially moved into 108 and had a bedroom of her own, which lasted about three days before Regina demanded she stop being an idiot and simply sleep with her. An odd decision considering it had been two months since they'd last had sex, but one Emma couldn't be bothered arguing against as the bed in the master bedroom was ten times more comfortable, and the body in it far more welcoming than the cold emptiness of the guest bedroom.

Another month; that was all Regina needed to find the ingredients to cast the counter-curse. How was she to know they were the _True Love_ Henry wouldn't shut the hell up about? She'd only meant to kiss Regina for good luck and the next thing any of them know, the curse is breaking and they're being sucked back to medieval times.

What confuses her is that she has no idea what comes next. Obviously, she'll go with them all to Regina's kingdom, and she's apparently some sort of knight now but is that it? Will she live on the outskirts of a town with her lovesick parents, only seeing Henry when he isn't learning something, or will Regina want them all in the palace like one big, dysfunctional family?

The more logical side of her brain says she won't know unless she actually asks, but then there's the side of her that is thoroughly terrified of what Regina might say, and maybe it will be better if she just does the whole wait and see thing without the risk of looking stupid for asking.

There's also the part of her she's trying really hard to ignore that thinks she might, maybe, possibly actually be avoiding Regina for fear of disappointment. She knows Regina well enough to know True Love doesn't mean a damn thing compared to her desire for freedom and the ability to make her own choices.

Also, Regina liked to remind her often that just because they lived together, it didn't mean she wanted anything more from Emma than she was already getting, which—

Honestly, never really made much sense but its Regina; Emma doesn't expect most of what she says to make sense. It was the bed sharing all over again where Regina apparently wanted the intimacy and company, but there was never anything more than a few kisses here and there, and Regina never once brought up sex in the time they lived together.

Are they friends? Dating? Married? Who the fuck knows.

Huffing lightly, she leans back on her hands and turns her gaze to the sky. She has no idea how long she's been staring at the fire, but any longer and she's probably at risk of her eyeballs melting from the heat.

She doesn't notice the hand, or the fact Regina is sitting next to her until something squeezes her thigh and she jumps, gasping.

Whether because she's trying for basic human decency, or she simply doesn't care, Regina doesn’t mention scaring the shit out of her as she comments casually, "Your son decided he'd rather share a tent with his grandparents."

Breathing in deeply through her nose, Emma lets it out slowly through her mouth before she replies, "Let's hope he doesn't wake in the middle of the night and catch them fooling around."

She turns at just the right moment to watch Regina's face contort in disgust, and smirks when she then groans, "Please refrain from putting such images into my head."

"Sharing is caring, Regina."

She snorts. "If that's you caring, believe me; I can do without."

"Suit yourself."

With nothing more to say, Emma looks back up at the sky and allows the silence to fall around them. As Regina stretches out beside her and entwines their fingers, she thinks maybe she can live without knowing, without needing a label on whatever it is they are to each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Setting out the next day, Regina does her damnedest to stay as far ahead of them all as she can. She knew sharing a tent with Emma was going to bring about some questions, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer number of people who asked them. They weren’t exactly discreet back in Storybrooke, but not long after they woke this morning, it became abundantly clear that the majority of the town had somehow missed the fact they’d been living together before the curse broke.

For twenty-eight years, she’d known she was living in a town full of idiots but the level of obliviousness was just too much. By the time the fifth person fell into step beside them and started asking questions, she’d decided walking with Emma wasn’t worth having to hear the opinion of everyone and their grandmother about something that, quite frankly, doesn’t concern them.

After losing her temper and yelling at Leroy to mind his own damn business, she’d marched ahead and for the past hour, she’s been trying to ignore the fact that Emma’s gaze hasn’t once left her back.

How she knows the eyes belong to Emma is simple; the hairs on the back of her neck have stood on end ever since. She knows that if she turns around, it won’t be to Emma glaring at her. No, she’s known for quite a while now that her temper has a certain effect on Emma, and that in turn has a certain effect on her hence the neck, and the heat she refuses to acknowledge beyond the fact that it’s unusually warm for a cloudy day.

She also knows that they’re eventually going to have to talk. They can’t keep going on as they did in Storybrooke because while this thing between them has never been a secret, it’s not something they’ve discussed at length either. She enjoys Emma’s company a lot more than she would’ve first thought, and certainly more than she’s ever expressed to the woman herself.

To hear Emma tell it, there is no word to describe what they are to one another. It was obvious she was trying not to put a label on them but at the same time she hadn’t needed to lie once about any of it. They are something to one another, something more than friends or co-parents to their son. Beyond that, she’d left it to interpretation and laughed off any attempts others made to put a name to it.

Whether they were fighting, talking, having dinner with their son or having sex long into the early hours of morning; they clicked. Neither of them questioned it, at least not in the presence of the other. Emma had, as some might say, simply gone with the flow and Regina had taken her cues from there.

There have been bumps along the way, as one might expect. First with Emma finding out that everything Henry told her was true, and then there was the awkwardness of being asked to move in with them, though that admittedly went a lot smoother than Regina originally thought it would as it hadn't taken long for Emma to accept.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She sucks in a breath, startled by the sudden voice in her ear before her head snaps to the side and she glares at Emma. “Just how cheap do you think my thoughts are?”

Grin forming ever so slowly, Emma drawls, “Well I offered you a penny, so…”

Regina scoffs. “Go back to your parents and annoy them, would you?”

“I can’t,” Emma says, her exasperation lending a slight whine to her voice. “Snow keeps talking about how much she’s missed, and she has all these questions about my childhood that I don’t want to answer. I kinda wanna strangle her to get her to stop talking, you know?”

Regina snorts. “Oh I know that desire well.”

“So, yeah.” Emma shrugs. “You’re kinda my best option at this point.”

“Are you trying to imply there aren’t times in which you want to strangle me?”

“Not really,” she admits with another grin. “But you _are_ easier on the eyes and your voice is…”

“Yes?” Regina prompts, brow raised. She deliberately lowers her voice and purrs, “Don’t stop now, Miss Swan.”

“Don’t do that.”

She smirks knowingly. “Do what?”

“The voice.” Emma does whine outright this time and it is so beautifully petulant that Regina couldn’t stop the laugh if she tried. “You know what it does to me.”

And just like that, the mood sours. Regina scowls. “I used to think I did.”

Emma frowns. “What?”

Idiot. “It can’t have escaped your notice that we haven’t…”

“Had sex?” Emma asks. “Yeah, no, that definitely hasn’t escaped my notice and since you brought it up— why is that?”

Regina turns sharply, her scowl deepening. “Why are you asking me?”

“Well I sure as hell didn’t decide we should stop,” Emma snaps and they both freeze.

Her expression turns sheepish before Regina purses her lips and takes a not so subtle step back. Emma's gaze narrows. “What?” She laughs. “You’re going to run from me now?”

“No,” Regina lies. It’d be ridiculous if she did considering she’s in heels, and the only place she’d be able to run to is where Emma will eventually end up anyway but—

But Emma is right; she isn’t the one who decided it.

“That is your modus operandi, after all.”

“Fuck you,” Emma replies, erasing that one step and more. “Tell me why.”

This is how it always starts; with either one or both of them getting close— getting angry to the point one of them loses themselves and attacks the other in a way neither of them will, maybe not even _can_ , resist. Regina shudders and looks off to the side in the hope it might keep her from tempting fate. She catches sight of the three concerned faces looming ever closer while they stand there and argue, and mutters a curse beneath her breath.

“Now isn’t the time,” she murmurs, looking back only to groan when she notices Emma's darkened gaze. “Emma,” she warns. “Your parents and our son are right there, as well as the rest of Storybrooke. We can discuss this later.”

“Later when?” Emma challenges and Regina’s stomach flips in response to the rasp in her voice.

“Later,” she hisses, taking another step back before she spins and starts to walk away.

“So much for not running,” Emma shouts after her.

Her arm snaps up, too many hours spent in Emma’s presence not to have picked up on a few of her quirks as she continues down the road.

 

.

.

.

 

Laughing his silly little head off, Henry runs passed Emma in an attempt to catch up with Regina. Emma scratches the side of her head, confused by her seemingly torn feelings of frustration and amusement as David and Snow appear at her side.

“Did she just…”

“Yup.” She figured Regina would ignore her, or shout something especially venomous back considering she’s so good at it, but no; Regina had actually flipped her off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do something like that,” Snow comments.

Hearing her own amusement mirrored in her mother's voice, Emma faces her and cocks an eyebrow. In all likelihood it’s because Regina never _has_ done something like that before, but still, this is her mother and she’s on the verge of laughing when her daughter has essentially been told to fuck off by the woman she’s… involved with.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Snow grins. “If it were anyone else she’d done that to, you’d be giggling like a school girl.”

Emma squints at her. “When, in the five months I lived with you, did I ever giggle like… anything?” She has not, does not, and never will because she is a grown ass woman, damn it.

Snow on the other hand does, and does. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Uh, that’s because were it anyone else, you’re right; I would have.” She’s not a liar, geez. “Which is totally beside the point,” she adds and starts forward, Regina and Henry little more than specks in the distance now. “You should be yelling after her to treat your baby right, and threatening to cut it off if she does it again… or something.”

That’s what parents do, right?

Snow giggles again as she falls into step and entwines their arms. Emma scrunches up her face, unused to the level of touching she’s had to endure these last 24 hours, though she says nothing to dissuade it. It’s kind of nice, she supposes, unwanted as it is.

“Sorry,” Snow says teasingly. “I’m sure your father will make up for it later when he gives her the speech.”

Emma snorts. “Doesn’t she have magic now?” She looks over Snow’s head to David who nods, the dopey grin still plastered to his face.

She starts to wonder if it might be permanent, mostly because it’s easier than thinking about magic and the fact that it’s real on top of everything else she’s avoided thinking about since this whole nightmare began.

Like parents.

And different worlds.

And that whole sleeping with the Evil Queen— well, more actual sleeping than _sleeping_ but, yeah. She’s either repressing it all, or she’s really as calm as she feels, and she isn’t exactly sure which is better. So she avoids, ignores, pretends; whichever word one might wish to use to describe her unhealthy habit of simply getting on with her life with as little soul searching as possible.

“Emma?”

“Huh,” she replies, emerging from her head. Snow and David are looking at her with parental concern again. “Sorry, spaced out. What’d I miss?”

Snow smiles one of those smiles Emma used to fondly label as oblivious coming from Mary-Margaret. She should probably stop now that she knows this is her mother.

“Are you excited?”

She blinks slowly. “For?”

Snow smacks her shoulder and Emma considers protesting, maybe say something about parental abuse and how it’s frowned upon, but it’s sort of like being swatted by a small child with zero upper body strength and not really worth the bother.

“Less hitting, more ‘splainin, Lucy.” Snow looks at her like she’s grown another head, and she sighs. “I love Lucy? No? Okay then. What are we talking about exactly, because I’m lost? Excited about what?”

“Everything!” At her continued blank stare, Snow rolls her eyes. “A new world, Emma! New life, new adventures. You’re a Princ— well. You _were_ a Princess. I guess you’re a knight now, which probably suits you better if I’m being honest. Oh! And magic!”

 _So that's where I get my rambling from_ , she thinks.

She tries not to sigh again, but it’s hard not to and she ultimately fails. Trust her mother to bring up one of things she doesn’t want to think about. Mary-Margaret did it enough that it doesn’t really surprise her; _where were you? Were you with Regina? Are you dating? Emma, was Regina just in your bedroom?_

Sooo many questions. Also yes, yes she was.

“That doesn’t really have anything to do with me though, does it? I don’t have magic.”

“You don’t know that,” Snow argues. Emma slowly turns her head, nothing but disbelief in her expression. “What? You don’t. You might have magic, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility just yet.”

And that’s just… that’s just great. One more thing to add to her growing list of things to hopefully ignore for the rest of her life. Her? With magic? It’s an absurd thought. It might have come in handy all those years ago when she was in and out of foster homes, or living on the streets and having to steal what little food she was able to get her hands on just so she wouldn’t die of starvation, but now? Now it’s just another possible complication she wants nothing to do with.

“Lets just… not, right now.”

“But—”

“Please,” she interrupts, only meeting her gaze long enough for Snow to see just how strongly she _doesn_ _’t_ want to talk about this. Snow nods quickly and she lets out a breath in relief before facing forward again. “We should probably try to catch up to those two.”

 

.

.

.

 

By mid-afternoon, Regina has fallen to the back of the pack. They’d stopped briefly, as close to lunch time as any of them could make out. She decided afterward that it was too much hassle trying to keep ahead of them all. There was a greater chance someone might fall back and try to talk to her but it was a risk she was willing to take if it meant giving her feet a rest.

Nice as they are, she’s beginning to rethink her obsession with heels. She’s looking forward to getting back to her palace, and she mentally pats herself on the back for having had the thought to preserve her things before she cast the curse. Soon, she’ll be strutting around in a pair of comfortable leather boots, and if there is nothing else for her to look forward to, then at least there’s that.

Rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck until she hears the double click of her bones realigning themselves, she exhales heavily and lets her mind wander to what awaits her. She wonders if Morgan has a personal handmaiden like she did as Queen, and if the girl is any decent at giving massages. She could certainly use one after their seemingly endless journey through terrain that changes more often than she does her mind.

There are a lot more trees than she remembers but then, looking back on her past, how large the forest is surrounding her kingdom isn’t exactly a priority on her list of things to ponder when she has nothing more interesting to do.

Emma Swan, however, is right up there somewhere at the top— assuming one considers less than a year back part of their past. Regardless, she thinks about the woman a lot, and not necessarily always in a desirable fashion. Though, admittedly, there is quite a bit of _that_ , especially considering everything else she could otherwise be thinking about.

Emma naked is just…

She sighs wistfully before shaking her head. There will be plenty of time for that, and likely more now that she understands _why_ they’ve abstained recently.

That, in particular, is something she needs to consider. That she’d had the consideration to deny herself something she wanted purely because she _cared_ is, well, strange to say the least. Subconscious or not, she’s rarely considerate of another’s comfort, never mind their _feelings_ unless that someone happens to be her son, which, she supposes hasn’t always been the case; her denial of the existence of the curse in the beginning is proof enough of that.

After sharing her tale with Emma, she’d had the briefest moment where she’d wondered if Emma would want to continue their still currently unnamed and vaguely confusing relationship. She’d scoffed at the thought in the seconds that followed, but she’d apparently taken it more seriously than she’d given herself (or Emma for that matter) credit for. That Emma hadn’t confronted her about it at all, she’d taken as indicative of agreement and not bothered to bring it up.

Of all the times the small amount of goodness left inside of her could have manifested, it decided to do so by taking away one of the very few reasons she had to get out of bed every day— a bed she’d have gladly climbed back in were it filled with a certain blonde, naked and wanting, who she finds hard to resist on a _bad_ day let alone a good one.

Groaning quietly to herself, she shoos the thought away. She’s meant to be irritated with Emma and she’d been doing so well.

Granted, pretending to ignore her while they ate lunch _had_ been amusing thanks to the pout Emma wore throughout. She’d been on the verge of laughing aloud more than a few times but then Snow interrupted them to talk about what she could do since she wouldn’t be Queen and when Regina actually spoke to offer her some suggestions, Emma had stormed off in a huff, and all was right with the world again.

Forcing her gaze from the ground, she catches the look Emma sends her way and bites her lip. It _has_ been close to six hours and she is _kind_ of bored now that Henry has taken it upon himself to distract his grandmother from harassing her daughter.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she raises a hand and beckons Emma to her. Emma immediately stops. Snow notices but she continues when Emma says something Regina can’t quite make out with the distance still between them.

“Snow wants to stop soon,” Emma says when she’s finally close enough. “She’s worried some of the kids might get lost in the forest before we set up camp.”

“We’ll need to spread out.” It’s a little early, but considering they had spent an hour the night before rounding all the children up in the dark, she isn’t going to argue. “We won’t all fit within a single clearing.”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, turning and falling into step with her. “She sent David ahead with a few of the others to see if there are any close together.”

 “I could always raze a few trees.”

“Uh… maybe wait and see before suggesting that to her.”

“Who said anything about suggestions?” Smirking as she watches emerald eyes almost disappear into the back of Emma's head, she adds, “I’m merely reminding you who is Queen, dear. Should I choose to do so, I won’t need your mother’s permission.”

“Uh huh," Emma responds. "We both know that even if you weren’t Queen, you’d still do whatever you wanted.”

“True."

Emma shakes her head but she’s smiling and Regina decides she prefers this. Pretending to be mad at her is all well and good, but it gets tiring and just plain boring after a while. Arguing, bantering— hell, outright _fighting_ with Emma is by far more entertaining and beneficial overall.

“She thinks I might have magic,” Emma says after a few minutes of walking together in silence.

Taking a moment to let the words sink in, Regina considers her response. Surprisingly, it hadn’t once occurred to her but given who Emma is, it’s within the realm of possibilities. She shrugs and says, “You might.”

Emma stops and grabs her arm when she tries to keep going. “That’s it?”

“I’m sorry?” She frowns, tugging the arm from her grip as she turns. “What exactly were you expecting?”

Emma throws up her hands and growls, “I don’t know! Surprise, maybe?”

“Why?” Regina eyes her warily, suddenly aware she’s being too flippant but confused as to the reason for Emma’s distress. “You’re a child of true love, and the savior. I’d be more surprised if you _don_ _’t_ have magic.”

“This is insane.”

With a sigh, she repeats, “Why?”

“Humans aren’t meant to have magic, Regina,” Emma replies and it’s an answer she isn’t expecting as she stares blankly at her. “We’re irresponsible, greedy assholes,” Emma continues. “Look at all the shit that happened in the real world; world war one, two. Iraq, 9/11, the fucking _holocaust_. If Hitler or even goddamn Bush had had magic, we’d all have been screwed.”

“You’re worried about becoming a—” She pauses long enough to make air quotes when she echoes _real world_ and adds, “villain?”

“With my anger issues?” Emma’s face contorts in an expression that precedes a question somewhere in the vicinity of; _are you fucking kidding me?_ She raises a brow and Emma scoffs before she explains, “If I have magic, then a year from now you might very well be trying to survive the fricken apocalypse.”

Regina snorts and then she’s laughing one of those full bodied laughs that will more than likely give her a stomachache. Emma’s mouth falls open and her eyebrows disappear into her hairline, and she only laughs harder, barely able to hold herself upright.

The more she laughs, the more changes Emma’s face goes through. From slack-jawed shock to frustration, curiosity, and then hesitant amusement. Regina takes a breath and tries to regain control of herself, but Emma’s brows rise once more and she starts all over again.

If there were ever a more ridiculous situation to find herself in, she’s at a loss for what it could possibly be. Emma Swan who ran through fire for her, who reunited two children with their estranged father, who fought against _Rumplestiltskin_ and _won_ , is worried she’ll become a villain— even more ridiculous; she’s apparently relying on the _Evil Queen_ to be the one to reassure her.

“Regina,” Emma whines, “come on.”

“S-stamp your foot.” Emma frowns, confused before the reason dawns on her, and she scowls. Regina wheezes. “Oh god.”

Emerald eyes roll and with a huff, Emma folds her arms. “Nothing is _that_ funny.”

“Tell that to your—” She hiccups. “—face.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Regina nods. She is. She really is. “I’m…” She chuckles at the lie on the tip of her tongue, head shaking when she says, “Not sorry in the slightest.”

Emma sighs and asks, “Are you at least done now?” Regina nods again, lips pursed as she holds back what she’s sure to be a cheek-splitting grin. “Good. Will you help me?”

She straightens suddenly, more alert than ever. “If you have— with your magic,” she says, seeking clarification, and Emma nods. “Oh.”

She definitely wasn’t expecting that.

Emma squints, head tilted to the side. “Is that a yes?”

“I… Y-yes.” she stutters before she clears her throat and runs a hand down along her blouse, smoothing out a nonexistent crease. “Yes, of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

Emma wakes to the sounds of shuffling and rolls over with a yawn as Regina re-enters their tent. Regina glances down at her with a raised brow and a smirk before she drops to her knees, a playful glint in her eyes. She crawls back into their makeshift bed with a quickness that might surprise anyone else, and Emma hisses as chilled limbs come into contact with her own.

“Goddamn woman,” she mumbles as Regina wraps around her, leeching all her warmth.

“I knew you were good for something.”

Emma grunts and swats her backside. She’s good for plenty of things; catching bad guys, rescuing not-so-helpless damsels, breaking curses and punching people who deserve it— to name a few. “Remember that next time you’re naked and begging me to do something about it.”

Orgasms; she’s good at those too if her memory of Regina writhing beneath her while screaming her name is any indication.

“I don’t beg,” Regina murmurs, shifting until almost all of her weight is on top of her. She groans out in pleasure. “You’re so warm. It’s freezing outside.”

“No shit,” Emma deadpans. She’d had to get up in the middle of the night to pee, and she’d taken great pains to _avoid_ Regina until she’d warmed up because she’s nice and considerate, unlike _some_ people. “You weigh a ton.”

“Remind me to kill you for that later,” is the response before Regina gives another groan and says, “We have to get up soon. Your mother is already awake and talking to the birds.”

Emma stares up at the roof of the tent in silence. She hasn’t given much thought to her parents being fairy tale characters on account of the whole avoiding things thing, but if Snow _is_ talking to birds then it doesn’t surprise her. Mary-Margaret had been one of those early to bed, early to rise kinds of people and was always horrifically chirpy in the mornings, much to her dismay; talking to birds is by far saner than being a morning person, surely.

Surrendering to the urge to close her eyes and enjoy the moment, Emma slings an arm across Regina’s back with a murmured, “How soon is soon?”

“Soon.”.

She smirks knowingly as the body on top of her grows heavier. “You falling asleep on me, Queenie?”

“Mmm,” Regina hums, burrowing into her neck.

Emma chuckles, perfectly content to let it happen, more so because it will infuriate Regina when she next wakes. She’s cuddly when she’s tired and despite the rather obvious facts to the contrary, Regina will deny it until her dying breath. _It_ _’s weakness_ , she’ll say, and Emma will roll her eyes as she always does because if feeling comfortable and safe means she’s weak, then she’ll sacrifice every ounce of strength she has for even the briefest moment of it.

Drifting somewhere on the edges of sleep, she hears the softest of sighs before Regina shifts again. She forces herself to keep still and not tighten her hold like she wants to. Regina doesn’t generally run. She’ll slowly pull back and close herself off, pretend it never happened after the fact, but never during.

When Regina settles, a head on her shoulder and a warm weight nestled atop her hip, Emma relaxes and starts to breath again. “Your magic,” Regina says, voice quiet and husked with sleep. “It’ll be light.”

“What?”

“If you do have magic,” she explains, head tilted up as Emma’s eyes pop open to look down at her. “It won’t be like mine. You won’t become a villain.”

“Because it’ll be light,” Emma repeats and gets a nod against her chest. She snorts. “You’re telling me you’re evil because your magic is dark?”

“Wrong way round,” Regina murmurs with a heavy sigh.

“What horse shit.” Her head snaps up, the reprimand written clearly on her face. Emma cocks an eyebrow at her and Regina sags, head falling back to her shoulder with a solid thump.

“I listen,” Emma continues after a minute or so. “These people talk about magic as often as most people do the weather. It’s all awkward and uncomfortable small-talk to distract from the fact they spent 28 years cursed and now they’re back home with no fucking idea what to do but… I listen. The fairies, Gold; I hear them talk about emotions and what drives people with magic to do the things they do.”

She tries to block it out, to ignore it, but there are only so many of her own thoughts she can get lost in and sometimes she loses herself too late that she hears things she’d rather not. She knows the baby she saved from Gold is the daughter of Cinderella. She knows Kathryn is Abigail Midas, daughter to a man who could turn anything to gold with a simple touch. She knows more than she needs to, hears more than she wants to and she might spend all her time pushing these things to the back of her mind, but she remembers every word, every whisper as though they’re being force fed to her whenever she recalls them.

“If you’re not evil because your magic is dark, then there’s no guarantee my magic will be light just because I’m good.”

Good, as far as any of them are aware, anyway. Heroic might be a more suitable word for what these people think of her but she’s not about to waste her time trying to educate them on the difference. It doesn’t take much to be heroic but from experience, she knows it isn’t only the good ones who are capable of it.

“If I’ve learned anything these last 2 days, then it’s that magic is emotion and like I said, I have some serious anger issues.” Regina makes a sound Emma assumes to be a scoff but it’s muffled against her chest where she’s buried her face. Emma pinches her side and says, “I’m serious. I know you didn’t tell me everything and I’m not going to push you into doing so anytime soon, but can you honestly lay there and tell me you did what you did because you’re evil?”

She doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough. Enough to know Regina’s life was a complicated one, even more so than her own. Regina had been hurt too many times by the world and those who should have protected and loved her, and instead of lying down and taking it for the rest of her life, she’d fought back— gotten angry and lashed out, again and again, trying to regain control and keep it by ensuring no one dared even _think_ about taking it from her again.

Words like evil and good are simplifications. Good is what people are meant to strive for and those who succeed, who have no idea what it’s like to constantly fail despite how often and how hard one tries, use evil as a means to separate themselves from the rest; the downtrodden, the failures.

Evil is made up of people who want more when the world has deemed them unworthy, the ones who are, quite honestly, more deserving of the happiness those who have never know _true_ hardship claim so easily.

“It’s easy to be good when life hasn’t been screwing you over since day one.”

Regina raises her head again, but this time their eyes meet and hold. Regina studies her for a while, expression changing from one emotion to the next before she settles on understanding. Emma remains transfixed until she realizes Regina is leaning in, and then they’re kissing.

She lifts a hand and cups her cheek as she kisses her back.

When those dark lips part in a silent plea, she sighs into Regina’s mouth and wonders if _now_ is the right time for this, nowhere near strong enough not to lose herself in the moment if it isn’t.

She doesn’t break it. She can’t. She _won_ _’t_ and she doesn’t miss the way Regina relaxes into her, like she’d been waiting for it as the kiss deepens. Emma slides the hand to the back of her neck and holds on, letting her know that whatever happens, the decision is hers and hers alone. She wants this— has wanted this for a while now and it’s only because she thought Regina no longer interested that they’d stopped to begin with.

A knee slips between her thighs and she moans softly. She clutches a hip and squeezes gently with both hands, offering up whatever encouragement Regina needs to keep going.

Someone chooses then to push at the flap covering the entrance to the tent, sending a gust of cold air to wash over them. Emma jerks her head to the side with a glare as Regina rolls off of her with a sigh that speaks as to just how disappointed she is by the interruption.

Snow stands there looking like a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. “I… oh god, I’m so sorry.” Emma clenches her jaw, unable to summon even the tiniest bit of forgiveness. Two fucking months she’s been waiting for this. “Emma I’m—”

“Just go, Snow,” Regina interrupts in her usual drawl. Emma stiffens briefly at the hand she feels slide over her thigh when Regina adds, “Well be out in a few minutes.”

“O— of course,” Snow stutters, stepping back as she lets the tent flap fall back in place. Emma growls, the sound almost loud enough to drown out another apology, muffled, before her mother’s silhouette vanishes.

Regina is on top of her in an instant. Emma rolls her head back to stare up at her, confusion and curiosity warring with one another on her face. Regina grins as she teases, “Something a matter, Princess?”

Other than the fact her mother just cock-blocked (twat-swatted?) her? “No,” she lies, eyes narrowing when the grin widens.

“Sure about that?” Regina bows her head, the question delivered with the throated purr of someone who knows her all too well— knows her lies, her _needs_.

Dark, kiss-swollen lips trail her jaw and she huffs. “Maybe,” she mutters stubbornly before the lips open and a warm, wet tongue molds to her skin. She whimpers, a shudder working its way through her. “No.”

A chuckle vibrates against her skin and then Regina is sucking and biting at her neck, not too hard but not too soft either as she shoves a hand between them, straight into her shorts.

Emma chokes on a gasp.

She should have known. Should have seen it coming. Should have— “Fuck,” she groans, squirming as Regina strokes through her heat, the movements quick and knowing.

“Still so wet for me,” Regina murmurs, thrusting into her at the same moment she bites down on her ear.

Emma whines and grabs the back of her head, fingers tangling within her hair as her hips roll in time with the hand. Regina licks, bites and sucks at her flesh as she plays on her weaknesses in a way that only someone with a voice like Regina’s can, whispering filthy things into her ear.

Her pleasure builds rapidly and rather than teeter on the edge of release as is usual for them, Regina throws her over into it blindly. Her mouth opens and Regina silences her scream with lips and tongue, humming into their kiss as Emma convulses beneath her.

Shocked that she’d come so quickly, or that Regina did that mere seconds after her mother caught them making out, Emma stares up at the roof of their tent once more, her head swimming as the kiss ends and her chest heaves with each breath.

Regina extracts her hand and Emma forces her gaze down to watch slim fingers disappear into a mouth. She whines pitifully, seeing the grin begin to form around the digits before Regina removes them and offers her a wink. “Delicious.”

Emma bites her lip to stifle her laugh. Regina is terrible at winking, but somehow she stills manages to make it look both adorable and sexy at the same time. “What happened to quid pro quo?”

Regina smirks as she replies, “You’ll have ample time to return the favour tonight when we’re locked away in my bedchamber.”

 

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.

.

 

For the duration of the rest of the trip, Regina contents herself with thoughts of Emma and the things they’ll do together when no one else is around. She takes the occasional break from fantasy to spy Snow a few feet behind her, and relishes in the redness of her cheeks whenever their eyes meet but for the most part, Emma remains at the forefront of her mind where she belongs.

In reality, Emma walks beside her, Henry the only thing separating them as he keeps pace between them. Despite it being the most opportune time to tease Emma in preparation for tonight, Regina relishes his closeness and takes comfort in it.

At sun set, they finally cross the border into her kingdom and she emerges from her thoughts for what she thinks might be the last time until things are settled. It isn’t until they’re halfway through the village that lies on the outskirts of her Palace that the first sign of life appears. She sees them before she hears them— the unexpected whispers of recognition.

A movement from the corner of her eye catches her attention and she turns to find Emma staring at her, one brow raised in question she has no answer for. She doesn’t understand the quiet utterances either. The faces of the few she’s spotted look far too young for them to have memories of her, yet the evidence and sense of knowing remains.

She shrugs to let Emma know she’s as confused as she is and continues on, scanning the faces of those who appear and dismissing them just as quickly, her name and variations of her title on their lips.

“Mom?”

Pausing in her stride, she glances down at her son. “Yes, my love?”

Henry points to something ahead of them and as she looks up to follow his finger, her lips quirk with her smile. “Who’s that?”

“That, my love,” she replies, eying the woman strolling towards them. “—is the Queen Regent.”

An irritable huff has her attention snapping back to Emma. “I thought you said she’d be in her late fifties,” she gripes and Regina grins, more taken by the hint of jealousy in her tone than she is bothered by it.

“Evidently, I was wrong.” Her gaze wanders back to the raven-haired woman, taking her in appreciatively. Emma swats her arm with the back of her hand, and her grin widens as the woman comes to stand before them. “Morgan, you are looking delightfully young.”

Morgan chuckles, bowing swiftly as she murmurs, “As are you, my Queen.” She straightens to offer Emma and Henry both a smile before she adds, “I almost lost hope of ever seeing you again.”

Regina gestures to Emma with her hand. “You can thank this one for that not being the case,” she drawls, infusing her words with enough irritation that Emma predictably rolls her eyes. “All my hard work down the drain because she is unable to keep her hands to herself.”

Understanding flashes within hazel eyes and Regina inclines her head in confirmation. There, she thinks, perhaps Emma will relax now that Morgan thinks she’s been claimed. If not, there’s not much else she can do beyond what she’d done this morning and— well; if that’s what it takes.

She grins to herself at the thought and asks, “Care to explain how these people all seem to know who I am?”

“Stories passed down, mostly.” Morgan shrugs, avoiding eye contact as she says, “I also recovered one of those portraits you commissioned and hung it within the throne room.”

Regina scowls. She’d only had those done to appease her mother when she’d stupidly considered the possibility the woman might actually approve of her after she’d killed the King, and she’d offered Cora the chance to do so.

Unsurprisingly, she’d been wrong and had sent her mother back to Wonderland before sealing the horrendous paintings in her vault, never to be seen again.

“Well,” she says, exhaling roughly through her nose. “You’ll be removing that.”

“It’s being done as we speak,” Morgan assures her with a smirk before looking once more to Emma and Henry. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Henry chirps, beaming as he thrusts out his hand. “I’m Henry.”

Regina melts. “ _Prince_ Henry,” she corrects him, cupping the back of his head as Morgan shakes his hand. “My son.” Emma makes a sound she assumes in protest, and she sighs before correcting yet again, “ _Our_ son _._ _”_

Morgan continues to smile, her expression expectant when she looks to Emma who sighs before she extends her hand. “Emma,” she says, shooting Regina a look when she snickers. “Sorry… guess I didn’t sleep well.”

“Not surprising,” Morgan comments casually, the note of disbelief hidden to all but Regina. She ignores it, stepping to the side to reveal Snow White and her husband when Morgan asks if there is anyone else she should meet. “Oh.”

“Mmm,” Regina hums agreeably, beckoning the two forward. “I’m sure you remember Snow and her… charming Prince.”

“Of course,” Morgan replies, giving away nothing as she steps forward with that same smile and greets them both. “Always a pleasure.”

Stepping back, she nods toward the long procession of bodies behind them. “I imagine everyone is wanting a nice hot meal and somewhere warm for the night. The former we can easily provide, but the latter might be problem… for tonight, at least.”

Regina raises a brow but waves off the concern. “They’ll make do with what they have for now,” she says. “Will any of this be a problem?”

Morgan stares at her blankly in confusion a second before understanding dawns. “Oh no.” She shakes her head and chuckles. “We’ve been prepared for your return for a long time. I assume you’ll be taking your throne back? It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane since you left.”

“Well…” Morgan scowls and Regina laughs. “Yes, dear. Snow has made it clear she doesn’t wish to declare war for the privilege, so I will return to my throne… eventually.”

“Eventually,” Morgan repeats with a groan. “Why couldn’t you just say yes and leave it at that?”

“Because that wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining as torturing you with the anticipation.” She smirks and places a hand on Henry’s shoulder, nudging him forward. “Shall we?”


	4. Chapter 4

Regina looks out upon the open field below. Those of Storybrooke her Regent deemed not important enough to share in the comfort of the palace were relegated outside, their tents dotting the landscape. The dying glow of the campfires strewn throughout highlight the few residents awake before sunrise, and she watches them scurry about readying themselves for the day ahead as she sips her tea.

It’s not for another thirty minutes, when her cup is empty and the early morning chill has set in beneath her robe, that she hears the soft footfalls against the marble of her bedroom floor. She feels the arms next, slipping around her waist as Emma presses into her back.

“Morning,” she whispers, kissing her jaw. “I didn’t think they’d adapt this quickly.”

Regina smiles as she turns within the embrace and kisses her properly. “It’s what they do,” she replies, pulling away from those warm, pliable lips with the faintest of sighs. “They may have lived in Maine for the last 28 years, but this is what they remember.”

Emma nods and tugs at her hip silently. She rolls her eyes and turns again, returning the warmth to her back as a chin comes to rest on her shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Far too early for you to be awake,” she replies, receiving a wordless grunt in agreement. “Why _are_ you awake?” She prods, keeping her disappointment of the fact far from her voice. She had plans to coax Emma out of bed this morning after letting her sleep a while longer and now her plans are moot.

 _Typical,_ she thinks, but Emma is always ruining her plans, so she might as well get used to it.

Emma shrugs, stifling a yawn before she answers. “New place. I need time to adjust.”

“You slept fine in the tent.”

“I’m used to that kind of thing,” she explains. “One of my foster families loved camping. I did it a lot growing up, and every forest feels the same to me for some reason.”

Regina frowns as she considers the explanation. The forest surrounding Storybrooke _did_ remind her of home whenever she found herself in a nostalgic mood, though the similarities ended there as Storybrooke was safe for the most part.

“A lot of ogres and chimeras wandering the American wild, are there?”

“Well…” Emma drawls, a grin in her voice. “I think I dated a few ogres, some of them even liked to hike on occasion.” Regina clucks her tongue then chuckles, forgoing her initial irritation at the thought of Emma dating. “Not sure about chimeras. Are those those three-headed things from Greek mythology?”

“That can breath fire, spit poison, and generally eat people who trespass in their territory,” she replies. “Yes dear.”

“Those sound like loads of fun.”

She smirks. “They taste a lot worse.”

“I…” Emma’s chin brushes her shoulder as she shakes her head. “I don’t even want to know.”

“No?” Regina questions, lower lip jutting in an exaggerated pout. “And here I thought I might request it for dinner tonight.”

“Please don’t…” Emma hesitates before she adds, “Ever.”

Regina laughs and pats the arms crossed over her stomach. “Very well,” she says, enjoying their banter too much to end it there. Voice teasing, she goes on to question, “What would you prefer then? Roast swan, perhaps? It is a positively mouth-watering dish.”

“The Queen of England would be appalled,” Emma deadpans, then nips at the lobe of her ear.

Regina laughs a little louder than she intends as a few heads from below whip in their direction. She’s relieved when none of them think to look up. Snow had already cornered her once last night to ask about what she’d walked in on that morning, and though Regina had taken great pleasure in describing _exactly_ what Snow interrupted, the last thing she wants is another run in with the woman when someone goes running to her and tells her all about seeing the Evil Queen and Savior _canoodling_ on her balcony in the early hours of the morning.

Her face twists in a grimace. If Emma ever heard her refer to it as canoodling, she’d never hear the end of it.

“What’s the agenda for today?” Emma asks, oblivious to her inner musings, thankfully.

Sighing softly, Regina turns said thoughts to the more comfortable topic and gestures to the field. “I’ll need to find a more permanent solution for those lot before anything else. It won’t do to have them all out there once the colder months hit.”

Emma hums, whether in agreement or simply something to do, Regina isn’t sure. “Worse than Maine?”

“In a sense,” she replies, mentally comparing the two. “It snows a lot and for much longer periods. It also rains quite a fair bit more often than it did in Storybrooke.”

“Less biting, more wet— got it.” Regina tilts her head as her thoughts veer off in another direction entirely, and she chuckles again.

The short silence between them breaks with Emma’s scoff. “And I thought _I_ was the child.”

“You are,” she counters, turning in the embrace once more and grinning. “But if you happen to come across any children who share my thoughts, you may wish to speak to their parents. In the case of your own, I’ve taken care of that for you.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“No more than your mother deserves,” she says dismissively and distracts her with a kiss. “Be a dear and get dressed,” she continues, extracting herself from Emma’s hold. “After what you did to me last night, I’m starved and in need of sustenance.”

 

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Emma makes it a point to avoid her mother as much as possible after the not so subtle warning. It was surprisingly easy during breakfast thanks to Regina dragging her back to the bedchamber the very second she had food in her hands, muttering something about nosy dwarves and their insufferable girlfriends.

She didn’t ask.

After Morgan had come to whisk Regina away for some reason, (she’d know if she’d been listening but alas, she wasn’t) she’d taken to wandering the palace. Avoiding her mother immediately became a lot harder; whenever she turned a corner or discovered a new corridor to explore, there Snow was, waiting to pounce.

Emma shakes her head and peers around the corner. Breathing a sigh of relief that it’s clear, she pushes from the wall and resumes her walk. She’s going to ambush Regina later to ask her what the hell she’d said to put that look on her mother’s face.

Whatever it was, pride and horror is _not_ an expression that instills feel-good feels.

Turning another corner, she’s confronted by a pair of double doors in what is otherwise a dead-end. She curiously eyes the intricate work along the frame before taking a step forward and reaching out.

The moment her fingers come into contact with the heavy metal, she gets a familiar jolt to the system and quickly snatches her hand back as arousal spreads through her. It’s only happened once before, but she’d know that magic anywhere.

“That’s her vault.” With a startled gasp, she turns abruptly, her face beet red as she groans. Snow smiles innocently. “As many alterations as Regina has made to this place, it _was_ my home for almost 18 years, sweetie.”

Emma screws up her face at the endearment. It makes her sound like a teenager about to be scolded, which she supposes isn’t far off but still. “Hi,” she replies sheepishly.

Snow laughs, a melodious little sound Emma expects to be accompanied by the magical tinkling of fairy wings, or something equally cheery, and quite possibly gay.

She clears her throat and shoves the thought away. “What’s up?” she asks, only to receive that look again. “Seriously, enough with the face already.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t relish knowing the play by play of how Regina gets you out of bed in the mornings.” Emma stares at her in horror as her mouth falls open. Snow snorts. “My thoughts exactly.”

“The hell.”

Snow nods, offering her a look of sympathy and conceding, “I suppose I deserved it to some extent.”

“Well yeah, probably, but come on. She didn’t even consider embarrassing m— no, never mind,” Emma mutters. Regina would consider her embarrassment a bonus rather than a hindrance.

Pouting, Snow sways forward and smacks her shoulder. “What do you mean, yeah probably? You were supposed to say no one deserves that.”

“I don’t lie, we’ve been over this,” Emma reminds her, grinning. It’s a lie in itself but she’s never been one to lie simply to spare someone’s feelings, nor is she about to start; her mother is a busybody, through and through. “Besides, your concern is because I’m your daughter and she’s—” _your former step-mother._ Emma wrinkles her nose. _Nope. Not going there._ “Uh… Never mind?”

Snow hums, a knowing smile on her lips. “It wasn’t all terrible,” she admits, grinning when Emma shoots her a look of disbelief. “Really. She told me you asked her to teach you about magic if you have it.”

Emma shrugs. “It made sense at the time.”

If she does have magic, then who better to help her learn to control it? Gold and Blue were both out of the question since she didn’t trust either of them as far as she could throw them.

“Is _that_ what you’re proud about, that I asked for help?”

“No.” Snow gives her another look and it’s an expression she can’t decipher— pride without the horror, maybe? “I’m proud of you because you’re making an effort even though you didn’t seem interested when we last spoke.”

Sighing, she reaches up to rub the back of her neck. She hadn’t been interested and that, she’s starting to realize, is her biggest problem at the moment. In order to adapt to her new life, she needs to start thinking about what’s changed before she can honestly accept and learn to live in this new world with people who now mean more to her than she’d originally thought.

In comparison to everything else, her relationship with Regina is _easy_ , and that’s why she’d focused on it. Now that the two of them are slowly working through what exactly this thing between them is, she no longer has anything to distract her from thing like magic and the fact she finally knows who her parents are after 28 years of wondering.

“I wasn’t really,” she finally admits with a sigh as she runs her fingers through her hair. “It’s all just… a little too much, you know? I thought I was handling it but I think maybe I’m just too overwhelmed to process everything. I’m trying now, but it’s going to take some time for it all to sink in.”

Snow nods, offering another smile in understanding. “I know.” She takes a breath, then takes her hand as it falls back to her side and Emma tilts her head curiously. “Your father and I… When we all first returned here and everyone was reuniting, there wasn’t much time to talk but what little talking we did do, we both agreed that we wanted to make this as easy for you as possible.”

Emma frowns as numerous questions come to mind. She’d contemplated many of them before now, though she hadn’t the chance to ask until now. She clears her throat. “Is that why… you and Dav— dad, and Regina?”

She hears a familiar drawl in her head and cringes. Regina would no doubt comment on her inarticulate babbling, or call her a bumbling idiot for not being able to ask a simple question.

Both, she decides. Regina would definitely do both.

“I uh,” she starts, only to trail off as Snow shakes her head.

“I know what you’re trying to ask, Emma. I’m thinking.” Emma nods, biting her lip as she averts her gaze and waits.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Snow squeezes her hand, regaining her attention a few minutes later. “The feud between Regina and I is not your burden to bear. I know she had to tell you about her, about everything she went through for the two of you to break the curse.”

Emma’s eyes widen in understanding that her mother _knows_. Snow rolls her eyes at her and squeezes her hand again, shaking her head in exasperation before she continues.

“She isn’t the easiest woman to love but despite what she’s done, you do. You know her. You might not forgive her, but you accept all those things she did and you love her regardless. True love is a powerful thing and I can’t take that from her— from you when I know just how happy the two of you could be together.”

Emma surges forward and the action garners a surprised squeak as she wraps her mother in an embrace. Her eyes burn tellingly and a lump’s been building in her throat ever since Snow mentioned the word love. She wants to laugh and cry, and maybe slap her mother a little because even if she’d _hoped_ for it, she’d never believed her parents would be so accepting.

Snow hesitates before she hugs her back and whispers, “I thought you didn’t like to hug.”

Emma chuckles wetly. “I don’t like people,” she corrects, “hugging them would give the wrong impression.”

Snow laughs as she holds on to her more fiercely and kisses the side of her head. “I just want you to be happy, Emma. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and if that means making your life with my arch-nemesis, then so be it.”

“Arch-nemesis?” Emma pulls back with a sniff and a grin. “I had no idea my mother was secretly Batman.”

Snorting, Snow playfully swats her stomach. “I’m telling Regina you called her the Joker,” she teases, turning dramatically on her heel. Emma gasps in mock horror and Snow takes two steps before she glances back over her shoulder with a grin, brow raised. “Coming?”

 

.

.

.

 

“So you found what you were after then.”

Regina frowns. She’d just explained to Morgan how her curse was broken, and _that_ was the conclusion she’d come to? “And how, pray tell, do you figure that? I cast the curse to _escape_ fate.”

“You cast the curse to get your happy ending,” she counters. “What’s happier than True love?”

Regina grimaces, dejection in her voice when she says, “You sound like Snow.”

“The woman makes sense occasionally.” Morgan shrugs, tilting her head back and downing her drink before she pushes the goblet aside. She retrieves another scroll and the sound of her quill against the piece of parchment fills the air as Regina scowls down at her own drink.

They were supposed to be discussing the transfer of power that would see her crowned Queen again. Instead, she’d been distracted by the curious girl she remembers from all those years ago bombarding her with questions, and just as she had been then, she’d been charmed and found her impossible to deny.

“You’ve grown freer with your tongue,” she comments, thoughts of her former (much more obedient) Captain playing in her mind as she sips her wine.

Morgan raises her head, a grin firmly on her lips. “Pretending to be you for 28 years will do that to a person.”

Regina scoffs. “My subjects like you.” They always had, and she still doesn’t quite understand it given all Morgan had done for the Evil Queen— the atrocities she’d committed in her name. She shakes her head and says, “If you were pretending to be me for all this time, then you did a terrible job.”

A knock at the door has her rising before Morgan raises her hand. “I’ll get it,” she says, standing as she shoots her a playful look. “It wouldn’t do to have the Queen answering her own door now, would it?”

Falling back with another scoff, Regina watches as she walks across the room and flings open the two doors. “Ah Savior, we were just talking about you, come in.” Morgan steps aside, permitting Emma and Snow into the room with a flourish.

With an exasperated sigh, Regina shakes her head fondly before meeting Emma’s gaze and smiling. “Emma.” Her eyes dart towards the woman’s mother and she manages to resist the sneer that pulls at her upper lip as she teases, “Bane of my existence.”

“Joker,” Snow replies in kind.

Regina’s gaze narrows, not missing the way that Emma flinches when she moves closer. “Dare I ask?” she questions, brow raised as she looks to the blonde who promptly shakes her head. She mentally makes a note to return to the topic when she’s alone with Emma and says, “Very well. Snow, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing right now,” she replies, smiling softly. “Merely helping my daughter find her way. I’ll see you three at lunch.”

As she turns to leave, Regina eyes her back with mounting suspicion. She dismisses Snow as she walks away, and turns her attention to the next best thing. “Emma,” she purrs silkily. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

“So many things,” Emma drawls with a laugh. She drops down beside her and Regina scowls as the goblet is plucked from her fingers. Emma grins. “What? You’re not drinking it.”

“I’m not _now_ ,” she mutters, head tilting curiously as Emma knocks back the wine in the same way Morgan had.

Groaning as the realization dawns, she slumps back and closes her eyes. Knowing there were similarities between the two of them and _seeing_ them, it turns out, are two very different things.

“Regina?” Emma’s worried voice sounds in her ear. “What’s wrong?”

“She just realized she has a type.” Her eyes flash open and she glares at Morgan. Morgan smirks but otherwise ignores her as she glances at Emma and adds, “I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to figure it out, what with all those maidens she bedded before me.”

Regina feels Emma bristle from beside her and clamps a hand down on her thigh. “Morgan,” she growls, her glare hardening. “Ignore her,” she says, looking to Emma as her expression softens. “I know it’s difficult, but try your best.”

Morgan snorts and rolls her eyes. “You two do realize you’re both grown woman, yes? You both have pasts. You have a son. ” She points at Emma. “She gave birth to him, which means dear Queen, that she also had sex before she met you, probably often— I mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous.”

Regina does and Emma flushes bright red. “Now,” Morgan continues, clapping her hands together. “While you two make eyes at each other, I’m going to go and disappoint Snow by having lunch sent up here for you.”

The words don’t register until Regina hears the doors close, and she blinks, head snapping up before Emma’s laugh draws her back.

“I think the not so subtle implication there is that we should grow up.”

Regina nods, chewing the inside of her cheek as she ponders Morgan’s words. “I’m not sure if I should thank her, or set her on fire,” she admits after a moment.

Emma chuckles. “You could always go with both,” she suggests, grinning wide as Regina gazes at her in approval. She leans in and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she says, “I’m only being a little serious.”

Chestnut eyes dance with mirth before Regina erases the last of the space between them, and kisses her soundly.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two days pass in a blur. Regina spends most of her time tending to her kingdom and overseeing the construction effort that began the day before to house her new subjects from Storybrooke. There’s supposed to be a ceremony sometime this week but it’s more for show than anything else. Regina described it as akin to a work place Christmas party; no one wants it, but it’s going to happen and there will at least be alcohol to make it somewhat more bearable.

It’s on the third day that Emma receives an answer to a question she’d not yet built up the courage to ask as Morgan sweeps into her office to inform her that Regina wants her to move all their things down the hall to their new bedchamber. Before she can question the order, Morgan flies from the room, the skirts of her dress whirling behind her in a way that reminds Emma of heroes and super villains who wear unnecessarily long, flowing capes.

This world and it’s people are all a little bit too dramatic, if you ask her.

Huffing a breath and pushing up from her desk, she walks out of her new office and takes her time in reaching what is predictably dubbed the ‘Royal Wing’ of the palace. Named so in case the servants forget who their overlords are and mistake a sleeping King or Queen for a lazy peasant, Emma surmised one morning as Regina took her on a tour, only partially joking at the time despite the very obvious eye roll she’d received on musing the thought aloud.

Stepping into their temporary accommodations, she pauses in the doorway when she sees Regina stood beside the bed they’d shared up until this point. “Come to make sure I don’t flee the palace with all of your valuables, Majesty?”

Regina turns to her with a smirk. “You’d be wasting your time,” she says. “Anyone you tried to sell them to would recognize them as mine. My guards would be on you within seconds.”

Inching closer, Emma wags her eyebrows. “Kinky.”

“Do get your mind out of the gutter, dear.”

“My mind _likes_ the gutter,” she counters, coming within grabbing distance. She grins and slides her hands across hips, tugging Regina close. “It especially likes it when your mind is there to keep it company.”

“Is that so?” Regina purrs, draping arms over her shoulders before she winds them about her neck. Emma hums as Regina then presses into her, and she lets her hands wander, over hips and into the small of her back before eventually landing on full, firm cheeks. “Captain, I do believe this constitutes grounds for a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

Laughing, Emma kisses her nose, her cheek, and finally her mouth. “It’s not sexual harassment if you _like_ it,” she murmurs, nibbling on a plump lower lip and squeezing her ass before she pulls back.

Or _tries_ to at least.

Regina yanks her back in with a scowl. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emma gestures around them. “I thought you wanted me to move all of this,” she says, confused.

Regina waves her hand through the air and from the corner of her eye, Emma sees things begin to disappear from the room. Slowly, she turns her head and her eyes widen in wonder as her jacket vanishes from the chair where she’d left it the night before.

“You honestly thought I had you sent up here to move our things?” Regina chuckles and Emma shivers, shifting from foot to foot as the sound draws heat into her stomach. “You’re my Captain, dear, the only duty you have to me is to take _very_ good care of my body.”

Emma’s thighs clench in need. With the husk of those words whispered in her ear and the increasingly familiar magic burrowing beneath her skin once more, the heat expands inside of her. She knows there is more to her job— to her duty than that, especially when the Queen is involved, but her desire to protest is in no way comparable to her desire to throw Regina down on the bed and tear the clothes from her.

Turning her head and capturing lips in a heated kiss, she forces her tongue into Regina’s mouth and her hands set to work on doing just that. Regina groans in appreciation, fisting a hand in her shirt and pulling her back towards the bed.

They fall together, their moans simultaneous, echoing within the kiss as their bodies meet in all the right ways. Impatient, Emma rips her blouse open a split second before Regina hears the knock at their door.

She tears her mouth from those skilled lips, hissing a curse. “Go away,” she shouts, arousal making the words guttural and deep.

Now that she knows she can have Emma wherever and whenever she wants, she wants her always. These last two days she hasn’t had the energy for them, too busy settling the affairs of her kingdom throughout the day, and too tired at night to resist the pull of sleep when she collapses into bed wrapped in Emma’s warm embrace.

If she has to murder some ignorant servant to stop anyone else from interrupting them, then she’ll do it in a heartbeat and not feel even a sliver of guilt after the fact.

At the second knock, her face contorts and her nostrils flare. She’s prepared to push Emma off and demand her lover wait while she takes care of it but then Emma is moving, no longer straddling her waist as she marches across the room and throws open the door with a growl.

“What?”

Looking to her over Emma’s shoulder, Morgan grins widely before her view is suddenly blocked and Regina hears the second, much lower growl. She isn’t certain how Emma will fair against the former Captain in a fight, but it’s then she recalls her warning about her anger and forces herself into action.

She quickly pushes up from the bed and gestures at her blouse, fixing the damage Emma caused in her haste before she saunters over and slips an arm possessively around her waist.

Almost instantly, the tension drains from Emma as she leans into it, and Regina glares at Morgan over her shoulder. “I assume you have good reason for risking your life with this interruption?”

Morgan shrugs, unperturbed in the face of their combined anger. “I thought you might want to know that your son is looking for the both of you.” Her voice is deadpan when she adds, “Feel free to correct me if I am wrong, but I assumed you wouldn’t want to accidentally murder your own child.”

Emma stiffens against her but Regina merely brushes the comment off with a roll of her eyes, well used to Morgan’s rather blunt wit. “Thank you,” she says, stroking Emma’s hip soothingly. “Where is he now?”

“Last I saw, he was in the courtyard,” Morgan replies, taking a swift step back and bowing at the waist. “My Queen,” she drawls playfully before she straightens, pivoting on her heel and taking her leave.

Regina stares after her, not oblivious to what she’d purposely done as a third growl sounds in her ears. A knowing chuckle follows from down the hall and she sighs again, dropping a kiss to Emma’s neck.

“You desperately need to get a handle on your jealousy, dear.”

Quicker than she’d expect, Emma’s turned and has her pressed to the wall beside the door. “I have no reason to be jealous,” she states arrogantly. “You’re _mine_.”

Regina shudders, more turned on by the confidence in her tone than she’d like to admit. She doesn’t attempt to deny the claim given it’s the truth. Morgan knows, and that is why she continues to goad Emma into these— for lack of a better term— _fits._

Grinning, she pushes forward, continuing to push until Emma concedes and starts to retreat. Free from the wall, Regina grabs the collar of the shirt and tugs. “Perhaps you should keep telling yourself that,” she purrs, “then maybe you’ll be able to join the rest of us in believing it.”

 

.

.

.

 

“What in the world?”

Looking up from the ground where she’d been lost in thought, Emma purses her lips to try and stifle a laugh before she claps a hand over her mouth. Not only is Henry in the courtyard still, but it seems their son has somehow gained a following, and the sight of him surrounded by girls and women alike is beyond amusing.

He looks confused but when Regina makes a move to try and save him, Emma quickly grabs her by the arm. Regina spins to face her and just as Emma predicted, the look on her face is that of worry and anger combined

“He’s fine,” she says, sliding the hand from elbow to shoulder as she gently turns Regina back to face him. “He’s smiling.”

Though his eyes scream confusion, the upward quirk of his mouth is visible even from where they stand. He might not know why exactly there are people fawning all over him as they are, but there is no denying that he’s enjoying the attention.

Seeing the truth of her words, Regina struggles to tamp down on her desire to push through the crowd gathered and rescue her little boy. “Morgan said he was looking for us,” she murmurs as his gaze finds hers and the smile on his face grows as he stands.

Emma squeezes her shoulder before dropping the hand to her side. “Guess he inherited your inability to resist distraction,” she teases, turning a few heads with her laughter when Regina scoffs.

Those who turn step back, their expressions varying in degree; surprise, hesitation, fear. Emma covers her snort with a pathetic sounding cough that has Regina throwing her hand back and hitting her in the stomach. She grunts at the same time Henry reaches them, a woman and what looks to be her daughter at his side.

“What’s wrong, Ma?”

She shakes her head and offers him a smile. “Nothing kid,” she says, hand hidden when in retaliation, she gooses Regina who gasps. She catches the hand that tries to hit her again as he eyes the two of them with suspicion. “Making friends?”

His face brightens and he immediately forgets the fact they’re being weird as he introduces what Emma correctly deduced are mother and daughter. “This is Jade and her mom, Amanda.”

They both curtsy as Regina’s unconvincing drawl of, “A pleasure,” merges with Emma’s casual sounding, “Hey.”

Attention entirely on their son, Regina says, “Morgan said you were looking for us.”

A flush crawls up his neck and into his cheeks. She tilts her head curiously when she feels Emma press into her back. “Our son has a crush,” she whispers into her ear.

Regina’s eyes dart between mother and daughter, then settle back on him. His face burns an even brighter red, lending credence to Emma’s claim, and her brow rises high on her forehead, a sinking feeling in her gut.

“Would the two of you like to join us for dinner?” Forgetting decorum, Regina snatches her hand back and turns on Emma with a scowl. Emma ignores her, flashing Amanda a grin over her shoulder. “We’d love the company.”

One glance at the Queen’s expression and they’d know it’s a lie, but Emma snags the front of her shirt before Regina can turn. Jade looks up at her mother, the hope in her eyes mirroring that in Henry’s. “Please mother, can we?”

Amanda glances down at her, then to the back of Regina’s head. She looks scared when she suggests, “Perhaps another time? We wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense,” Emma interjects, clenching her fist and holding on tight as Regina tries to pull away. “I’m sure Henry is bored of dining with his mothers all the time. We’re not the most exciting conversationalists and it’ll be nice having more people at the table for a change.”

“Well…” Amanda hesitates but as Jade slides a hand into hers, her shoulders relax and her face softens, whatever fear she feels towards Regina is no match for the manipulations of her child. “If— if you insist…”

“Emma,” she says, smiling widely as she senses Regina’s gaze trying to bore its way into her skull. “Call me Emma, and I absolutely insist.”

Henry launches himself at them then, slamming into Regina’s back and sending her reeling. Emma catches her easily as Henry wraps his arms around them both. “Thanks Moms!”

With a huff against her neck, Regina murmurs in her ear, “I’m going to kill you… slowly.”

Emma pretends not to hear. She ruffles their son’s hair with a smirk and says, “You’re welcome, kid.”

 

.

.

.

 

Seated at dinner, her third cup of wine in hand, Regina ignores the nudge beneath the table and continues to glare at the child who currently has their son wrapped around her little finger. The girl can’t be more than twelve-years old and her eyes are glued to Henry, attention rapt as he regales them with tales of that other world. Jade keeps smiling at him and giggling whenever he says something even vaguely amusing, which then causes him to blush even more than he already was.

It sets Regina’s teeth on edge, every single time.

Emma nudges her again, their knees knocking, and she tears her gaze from the two adolescents long enough to send her a withering glare. The fond look Emma gives in return has her huffing, throwing back her head as she downs the rest of her drink in one swallow. She will, begrudgingly, admit the girl appears entirely genuine in her interest of everything Henry is saying, but her son is definitely too young to be infatuated with anyone, let alone someone he _just_ met.

Feeling Emma’s stare still on her, she sighs and closes her eyes briefly, shaking the dull fog from her mind. “He’s just a child,” she reasons, lashes fluttering, her voice only loud enough that Emma will hear her.

As against this dinner as she was, once the awkwardness of it wore off, she realized Amanda was someone she might actually like given the chance, and she didn’t want to upset the woman. From what she’s overheard, Jade is both kind and smart, and she seems just as taken with Henry as he is with her. Were their children older and had met a few years down the line, she would have likely approved the match.

Right now though, Henry is her little Prince and no one will ever be good enough, not even adorable little red heads with big, blue eyes and dimples in their cheeks.

She tries to ignore the weight of the hand on her thigh, but then Emma is bumping shoulders with her and leaning in, breath warm against her ear when she points out that, “So is she, Regina.”

Annoyance bubbles in her chest and she turns, irritated chestnut meeting amused emerald. Emma grins despite her glare and darts in, kissing her on the nose before she sits back, as if she’d done nothing of the sort as she trains her eyes on the three sitting across from them.

Regina scowls at the side of her head, an unwanted surge of affection rolling through her. Emma should be upset that Henry is growing up and yet here she is, encouraging whatever asinine thing is occurring between the two children.

_Honestly._

“… time for us to go.” As the words penetrate her thoughts, Regina looks across to find Amanda and Jade getting up from their seats. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty. Dinner has been wonderful.”

Resisting an instinctive urge to scoff, Regina smiles tersely. “Of course,” she says. “We must do this again sometime.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she has to stop herself from flinching and she side-eyes the blonde next to her. She has no doubt she has Emma to thank for this newfound desire to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

Her leg jumps when the hand she’d managed to forget squeezes before Emma rises. “I’ll see you both out,” she says, leading mother and daughter from the room. Jade turns back at the last moment and waves to Henry with a grin.

Regina waits until all three have gone before she levels him with her stare, her brow slow to rise. His own grin is sheepish when he notices, his cheeks a softer pink than they’d been throughout the night. It’s an expression that reminds her of Emma, and pulls at her heartstrings just a little bit.

“You don’t like them?”

The question surprises her, but it also doesn’t. She knows she hasn’t exactly been inviting and if she thought anyone other than Emma might notice, it would have to be him. While they’d ate, she was courteous enough— appropriately interested in the stories Amanda and Jade had to tell, but her thoughts had been less than such and she’s fairly certain they occasionally showed on her face.

“I like them well enough,” she admits. They seem like good people and, as her thoughts earlier will attest, she’d have approved in a few years. Reaching for the pitcher of wine, she fills her cup for the fourth time as she adds, “What I dislike, my Prince, is what this means. You are growing up, and there is little I can do to stop it.”

“But…” His brow furrows. “I’m your heir, right? Isn’t this what you want?”

Wine halfway to her mouth, her hand freezes and her eyes narrow. He _is_ her heir and the implication is clear but as far as what she wants— “Why would you think this is what I want? You’re ten, Henry, and you are not of this world. Whatever it is you think you need to do because you’re my heir, I assure you, you do not.”

And whoever it was that made him think otherwise better watch themselves, she thinks.

“Oh.” He deflates, falling back in his chair. She eyes his posture, concerned that it might be disappointment rather than the relief she’d thought he’d feel. “Good.”

He smiles then and she relaxes, taking a sip of wine before she sets the cup down. Undecided on which of her questions is more important, she simply stares at him. It’s a toss up between who put the idea into his head to start searching for a young Queen (she has her suspicions), and whether or not he genuinely likes this girl. She may not want him thinking of girls in _that_ regard for another ten— forty years, but he would still do well to make a few friends outside of those he knows from Storybrooke.

“Do _you_ like her?” She questions finally. To her amusement, his flush returns and she chuckles softly. “I don’t mind if you do, dear. I merely ask because I think you could do with friends who aren’t almost three decades your senior.”

The mischief that enters his eyes alerts her to his thoughts and she raises a hand, halting the words on the tip of his tongue as she narrows her gaze once more. Emma had had those exact same thoughts the night previous, and she’d been idiotic enough to say them aloud. Not only that, but she’d had the exact look too.

“I suggest you turn your mind elsewhere, little Prince,” she warns playfully. “I am not yet too old to put you over my knee.”

“How come I never got that offer?”

Regina closes her eyes at the voice, unable to stop the smile that blossoms when Henry whines, “Ew, ma. Geez.”

“Yes, Emma,” she teases as Emma saunters back to her chair and falls into it with a thump. “Ew.”

Emma scoffs. “Your loss.”

“Ma!”

They both laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. This is the last chapter I have written for this. I intended to stay ahead of postings but it seems my muse has wondered off on vacation again and I've only completed half of the next. It's possible that with my trying to update 3 other stories, I've just done too much writing and worn her out, and she'll be back in a few days but I can't guarantee anything, so I'm giving this to you all now despite my plan.

Looking from the sword in her hand to her father stood no more than two feet in font of her, Emma hesitates. David had offered to teach her how to sword fight, a skill she should have possessed, she’d been informed, before she was appointed as Captain. She has almost innumerable responsibilities, but the most important of them all was protecting the Queen, should there ever come a time it was needed.

She still has her gun, but she hasn’t exactly been keeping it with her and once the bullets in the chamber run out, she figures it’ll be useless anyway. Until she learns how to control her magic— assuming she even has it, her only other option is the weapons she was born with and though she’s decent with her fists, she’ll be the first to admit she’s no Muhammad Ali.

Having resigned herself to the fact she _needs_ to learn, if for no other reason than to protect Regina, she tries to get a feel for the weapon. She’s never seen a sword outside of books and movies let alone wielded one before, but the grip of it in her hand is both a strange and familiar one. The strangeness is disconcerting, but the familiarity of it provides a certain confidence she knows she’ll need if she has any hope of succeeding in their endeavor.

At no point in her life until now, has she ever wondered if the old age adage that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks bears truth. Confidence aside, she was never all that good with being taught. Learning is one thing, but taking instruction from another and retaining patience during said instruction is at worst an impossibility, and at best; bizarre.

Her father is about to embark on a quest that will more than likely drive him to the brink of insanity, just as the teachers who’d tried to teach her growing up had claimed was done to them.

Clenching, then unclenching her fist around the grip, she allows her arm to fall back to her side. “Let’s get this over with.”

David grins. “I know it seems daunting at first,” he says, and at her raised brow, explains, “I wasn’t always a Prince. Years before I met your mother, I was just a simple shepherd. I still would be if King George hadn’t tried to deceive his kingdom into believing I was my long lost twin brother. I sometimes practiced in the barn when I’d finished all my chores, but I had a long way to go before I could do any real harm, and that remained true still when I was tasked with killing a dragon.”

Her eyes wide, he chuckles and gestures dismissively. “That’s a story for another time,” he says, his stare knowing as she closes her mouth and sets aside her questions. He nods and continues. “The point is, those of us not born to it had to start somewhere and I guarantee you, I didn’t have even half the confidence I feel in you, in me when I faced that dragon head on.”

Emma snorts, not quite believing him. What little confidence she might have, she knows for certainty that in the face of a dragon, she’d gladly run screaming in the opposite direction— not that she doesn’t appreciate what he’s trying to do.

He nods again when she keeps the thought to herself and remains silent. “We should start with a few warm ups, get your muscles used to the weight. Just follow my lead, and you should be fine.”

He drops into a stance, one leg in front of the other, knees bent and feet an inch or so apart. She copies him, feeling a little awkward in the position. She remembers seeing the stance in a few of the movies she’s watched in the past, and wonders briefly if this is how the actors had been taught during filming, before she shakes her head.

She wills herself to concentrate and quietly berates herself for becoming distracted so easily.

Bodies in constant motion, she mimics his every move, mere seconds behind him. She adjusts her stance as needed, half her attention on his feet while the other half sticks to his sword, near transfixed by the way it weaves through the air.

He makes it look effortless but in copying him, Emma knows that it is anything but.

They’ve only been at it for about ten minutes when her arms begin to protest the weight of the sword. She doesn’t complain, but she can feel the strain in her muscles and the slight stiffness in her back as every action requires almost the full extent of her body.

Muscles she’d long forgotten even exist remind her that they’re there and that she’s been neglecting them for all this time. She used to run. She used to go to the gym every weekend, and chase people halfway across the country to collect her paycheck during the week.

She still did the occasional run back in Storybrooke, but it was nothing compared to before, or even this. Somehow and at some point, exercise that was once routine to her every day life became something she did only when she felt like it, and it was a feeling she obviously hadn’t often had.

When she notices David speed up, she lets out an involuntary groan and he immediately stops to stare at her, his expression curious and only vaguely amused. “You alright?”

“You were in a coma for 28 years, how the hell is this not painful for you?” She drops the stance to straighten, and winces at the twinge in her back. _I really need to workout more._ “15 minutes following you and I already feel like I was hit by a truck... an angry truck, on purpose, because it hates me.”

His amusement only grows as she speaks and he’s grinning by the time he says, “Guess it’s like riding a bike.” He shrugs. “You were doing good. You started to look a little stiff there—”

“Because I am,” she interrupts. Arching her back until she feels the click, she groans again, this time in relief. “I figured if I ever got lazy, I’d end up fat too but I think this proves just how slack I’ve been lately.”

His grin softens. “I think this is a little different to what you’re used to. You just need some time to adjust— that jacket probably isn’t helping any.”

Glancing down at herself, she concedes and hands him her sword before she sheds the jacket. He beckons her over to one of the benches along the fence where she sets it down.

He places their swords next to it, then passes her a large clay jug filled with water. “When you’re done with that, we can do a few stretches without the swords before we get to the actual training.”

She nods, glad he didn’t suggest they stop for the day. She doubts she’d be able to live down the embarrassment of having exhausted herself on the _warm up,_ especially when she’s already embarrassed she’d needed this break.

Lifting the jug to her mouth, she hums as the water glides soothingly down her throat.

“A few weeks and it won’t even occur to you to drink that.” She side-eyes him and he’s grinning again when he explains, “You can tell the novices from the veterans during training by which of them drinks, and which of them dumps it over their head.”

She wrinkles her nose. Without her jacket and with the water cooling her from the inside out, she can already feel the chill in the air. “After what Regina told me of the Winters here, I think I’ll wait a few _months_ before I try that.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me. When you start to train with the guards, you won’t even notice it’s Winter.”

With a scoff and her best deadpan look, she drawls, “I’ll stick with my hypothermia free life, thanks.”

“We’ll see.”

 

.

.

.

 

“Holy shit!”

Upon hearing the swear followed by a deep, rumbling laugh, Regina quickens her pace to the Yard. When asked, she’d been told by a passing servant that Emma was training with her father and she’d been curious. Now, though still curious, she’s also mildly concerned. Emma is as clumsy as she is appealing, and the idea of her wielding a sword conjures all manner of thoughts, most of which involve the woman in question bleeding out and depriving Regina of not only the warmth of her body at night, but the very many skills of Emma’s that she has come to appreciate and, more importantly, crave.

Rounding the Barracks into the Yard, she jerks to a halt. Her hand rises and without warning, she rips the swords from David and Emma’s hands, throwing them off balance. Emma topples to her side as David stumbles back, blinking down at Emma in confusion a moment before his eyes dart up and over to Regina.

She’d known it was a mistake— a misunderstanding the very second she’d done it but seeing David bearing down on Emma with a sword while she was on her knees, she’d panicked. She knows he would never hurt his own daughter, and the realization must show on her face as he flashes her a smile, head shaking as he helps Emma back to her feet.

He says something to Emma before he retrieves their swords and leaves the Yard in the opposite direction. Emma turns to her when he’s gone, head cocked in question as Regina passes through the fence and wanders closer.

Lower lip tucked tightly between her teeth, she considers offering the apology that sticks in her throat but before she can, Emma smiles and the words flee her.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she croaks, cringing at the sound of her own voice. Her heart is still racing a mile a minute, and her brain isn’t fairing any better. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Emma murmurs, stepping closer. “You were worried, I get it. It’s okay.”

Her heart begins to slow and she slowly nods. Loathe as she is to admit the feeling out loud, it matters little compared to the ease with which Emma forgives her for it.

“I’d hug you now, but I’m kinda gross.”

As the words register, she forces her gaze away from Emma’s smile, down to the neck of her tank where the thin material has become damp with sweat. Her eyes snap up almost immediately as her heart begins to race for another reason entirely, and she clears her throat. “What were you doing?”

Emma frowns. “Uh… learning to sword fight?”

Regina shakes her head. She knows _that_ , what she wants to know is, “Why?”

As though she thinks it a trick question, Emma squints at her in response and Regina waits, her expression blank and giving nothing of her feelings away. After another minute, Emma releases a breath and explains, “Because I’m kinda useless as a guard or a champion if I don’t know how to wield a sword?”

Regina rolls her eyes. “You have a gun—”

“With limited ammunition,” she counters.

“—and magic.”

“Maybe.” Regina glares and Emma throws her hands up as she says, “We don’t know yet, remember? I’m supposed to be able to protect you. If I _don_ _’t_ have magic, how do you propose I do that?”

“You don’t,” she snaps, defensive all of a sudden. She isn’t some insipid damsel in distress. “I have magic and, unlike you, I already know how to wield a sword. I can protect myself.”

Emma growls. “Then what was the point?!”

“To give you something to _do_ so you don’t get bored and leave me!” Mouth falling open, Emma makes a sound caught somewhere between surprise and outrage deep in her throat, and stumbles back a step as though struck. Regina pales. “Emma—”

“What in the actual fuck, Regina?” Rather than turn on her heel and storm off as she fears, Emma returns that step and more as she grabs her by the jaw. “When have I ever left you, or given you cause to think I would?”

“I didn’t—” _mean it_.

“Bullshit,” Emma cuts her off. “I moved in with you. I put up with you for two months while you see-sawed between wanting me and being a cold-hearted bitch. If I didn’t leave you then, why the hell would I leave you now?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Regina shakes her head slowly. She was _over_ this. She’d never brought it up because it was irrational— insane even and she was _over_ it. Emma left _once_ but she hadn’t left _her_ , not intentionally, and she’d _come back._ “I’m sorry.”

The hold on her jaw tightens and Emma hisses, “Answer the goddamn question, Regina.” Again, she shakes her head. “I swear to God, if you don’t, then I _will_ and nothing you say will fix it _._ You can’t accuse me of stupid shit and expect me to forgive you when you won’t tell me _why_.”

“I…” Her eyes snap open as the full meaning of the words become clear. Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

Emma tugs her close, their faces no more than an inch apart, breath warm on her lips. “I. Will. Leave.” Each word is said a little deeper than the last and Regina feels her heart stop entirely with the threat.

The choice is there, and the decision is simple.

“Your first week,” she confesses quickly. “When you left and I called to offer you the Sheriff’s position— I felt like you’d taken a piece of me with you and I...” She swallows thickly. “What I said, that was the reason then. It’s not why now, I didn’t mean it. I don’t need you to protect me, but that doesn’t mean… I feel _safe_ with you, Emma.”

Emma’s grip goes slack and the hand falls away from her jaw as she stumbles back once more. “That… that doesn’t even make sense. We slept together a few times. You didn’t even like me!”

Shoulders falling in resignation, Regina laughs hollowly. It didn’t make sense, not then, but now? The evidence is there; they’d broken a curse. The feelings she tried denying at the time had been there all along and now Emma knows, or at least she will in the next five seconds.

“I fell in love with you the instant we met.”

“No.”

Despite her confusion, she stiffens and repeats, “No?”

“Yes!” Emma shouts and Regina reels back in surprise. “You can’t be a complete and utter dick to me, and then say something like that!”

Feeling a small measure of relief at her words, Regina lets the tension go and visibly relaxes, head tipping forward in concession. “I’m sorry.”

Emma half grunts, half scoffs. “Would you stop? It’s goddamn terrifying when you apologize, and you’ve done it twice now.”

“Would you rather I was angry?” She has no real reason to be, but if that’s what Emma wants, then she has a long list to draw from.

Emma’s scowl returns, deepening as she questions, “What the hell do you have to be angry about?”

Irritated that she even has to ask, Regina mirrors the scowl. “What emotion, precisely, do you think would be reasonable in response to the woman you love threatening to leave you,” she questions. “Before she _then_ calls you a dick?”

Disappointed and hurt, she’d felt. Contrition, she’d voiced. Anger is a stretch, but one she is well-versed in and can fake easily enough.

Emma huffs as she turns her back on her but not before Regina catches the flash of guilt on her face. She sighs and moves forward, hand hovering between Emma’s shoulder blades before she changes her mind. She clasps the back of her neck instead and steps around her, forcing Emma to face her.

When Emma’s attempt to avoid her gaze is done and their eyes meet, Regina exhales slowly and starts to speak— to explain because now that it’s out there, she might as well finish. “I feel safe with you. I want you to be around for a very long time, and that means not putting yourself in danger, for me or for anyone else. It slipped my mind that by assigning you as my Captain, I also made you my Champion. It is something that will need to be rectified—”

“No.” Her teeth click audibly as her mouth snaps shut and she clenches her jaw. Emma raises her hand, following the ripple of muscle and bone with the tips of her fingers. “You said you don’t need me to protect you and I understand that— I believe that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to. Threatening to leave you was stupid and I regret it, but so is thinking you can protect _me_ without it being a two way street. You don’t want me to leave, intentional or otherwise, and I get that but I don’t want you to either, especially if that means you somehow dying when I might have been able to prevent it.”

Her lips part in the form of a protest but a thumb brushes across them, stopping the words short. “Even if I’m not your Champion, as your Captain— as _me_ , I should know how to protect you and anyone else I might come across who needs my help, regardless of their want.” Emma smiles at her huff and adds, “I need to do this, if for no other reason than because I despise feeling helpless and it’s _who I am_.”

Once a Savior, always a Savior, Regina thinks irritably.  She sighs. “Fine,” she says. “But don’t come crying to me when your idiot of a father accidentally runs you through.”

As Emma’s smile turns from sympathetic to oddly affectionate, she registers a tingling in her face. She pulls back from the fingers stroking her cheek and removes the hand from around Emma’s neck, frowning as she wraps it around a slender wrist.

Scrutinizing the hand, she slowly unfurls her fingers and entwines them with Emma’s own. Immediately, a shock of heat races up her arm and she gasps, eyes closing in pleasure at the rush of sensations filling her.

“What?”

The smell of honey and lime drifts toward her nose and Regina inhales, humming softly in appreciation of the scent. “What are you feeling?”

Emma gives a subtle tug of their hands but Regina refuses the silent request, tightening her grip instead. Emma sighs and caves. “Why?”

“Because I can feel your magic.” At the silence, her lashes flutter open and she locks gazes with Emma. The panic in her eyes is expected and Emma tugs a little more roughly, but again, Regina denies the request and tugs back, drawing her closer. “I promised to help, remember?”

Emma’s throat bobs with her swallow but she nods slowly and Regina smiles. What little spare time she has had that wasn’t spent with Emma, was spent preparing for this eventuality. “I have some books I think might help,” she says, disentangling their fingers and grabbing Emma by the hips before she can flee. “I don’t think you need to worry about bringing about the Apocalypse with your magic.”

Frowning in confusion, Emma opens her mouth a split second before her expression relaxes in realization. “I’m not angry,” she admits, confirming Regina’s thoughts upon first feeling the magic calling to her. Emma glances down at her hand thoughtfully before she looks up again. “I have light magic?”

Regina nods, smiling at the wonder in her voice as she assures, “You have light magic.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey.”

At her father’s voice, the magic in Emma’s palm flickers and dies. She looks over her shoulder and offers him a tight smile before replying, “Hey.”

“Any luck?” He questions as he moves away from the door and crosses the room to where she sits.

She shrugs. “Not really.”

Fingers flexing, she taps into the previous warmth she’d been feeling and conjures the small sphere of light back to her hand. It was the only thing she’d learned to do before Regina had to leave. She’d muttered something about entitled nobles as she’d kissed her cheek, then she’d excused herself with a promise to return later and vanished from the room with a dramatic flourish.

David takes up the seat beside her and Emma glances at him from the corner of her eye when he doesn’t speak. He wears a small, proud smile that sends heat to her cheeks as she follows his gaze back to her hand.

He breaks the silence after a few minutes of watching the sphere bounce between her fingers. “I thought Regina was helping you?”

“She was,” she murmurs, balling her hand and snuffing the magic in her fist. “And then she wasn’t. I got bored waiting for her.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Should you be playing with it like that?”

Again, she shrugs. “Probably not, but it’s all I know how to do right now.”

And while Regina claimed it was the one of the simpler spells to learn, he isn’t the only one that’s proud of her for being able to do it. She’d never have known the magic was there if Regina hadn’t pointed it out but when she concentrates on bringing it to the surface, it makes her feel warm and safe, and just a little bit powerful.

The sound of him shifting has her turning to face him as he leans back in his chair. He tilts his head curiously and asks, “How does it feel?”

“Comforting,” she admits, relaxing her hand and conjuring the light once more. It hovers about half an inch above her palm and whenever she moves her hand, it rolls along her skin, clinging to her the very second one might think it would fall, as if drawn to a magnet buried in her hand and naked to the invisible eye.

Emma smiles down at the little glowing ball, slowly rotating her wrist so that it rolls counterclockwise in her hand. Regina had looked so happy with her when she’d done it the first time, and just the memory of it causes the light to flare for a second as a surge of pride smacks her in the chest.

“Snow thought you might be a little…”

“Freaked out?” She suggests with a smirk, and he nods. “Yeah. Not really. I mean, when Regina told me what it was, I was ready to bolt but that was more because we’d just finished arguing and she _was_ kinda freaking me out a bit.”

Experience has taught her that when Regina goes quiet, she should at least be slightly alarmed.

“I was wondering what happened after I left.”

“I couldn’t even tell you if I wanted to,” she groans, dismissing her magic to slump back in her seat. “One minute she’s trying to apologize for overreacting, the next she’s telling me she’s been in love with me since the day we met…”

And poof, all of a sudden she has magic.

Light magic that is connected to thoughts of Regina, apparently.

“Really?” He questions with what she thinks is a little _too much_ interest.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion. “You wouldn’t happen to be gathering gossip for a certain brunette.” She levels a hand with her knee and grins as she says, “About yay high…” His boisterous laughter fills the room and her grin grows at the sound. “Seriously, I’m starting to think _you_ might be the one with a thing for dwarves.”

His expression goes from amused to outraged when the door suddenly flies open, and in walks Henry, two boys she doesn’t recognize trailing in behind him. “Hey ma, gramps. This is Thomas…” He points his thumb over his left shoulder, then his right as he introduces them. “—and Luke. Can they come for dinner?”

“Sure,” Emma replies. Regina is going to kill her. “The more the merrier. Will their p—” Henry quickly shakes his head, eyes widening in horror. She immediately shuts up and clears her throat. “Uh, do they want to stay the night too?”

He glances over his shoulder at her question. To Emma the boys look shocked but barely half a second later, Henry faces forward again and answers confidently, “Yes.” She cocks an eyebrow expectantly, smiling when he adds, “Please.”

“Alright kid, go play. I’ll talk to your mother about getting them some beds set up.”

“Awesome.” Grinning, he bounds across the room to her and throws his arms around her neck in a hug. “Thanks ma.”

“Of course, kid.” She wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes tightly. Lowering her voice, she murmurs in his ear, “Find out if there’s anything they can’t eat or don’t like, then tell the cook.”

He nods, pulling away. She pats him on the back before she lets him go and turns her smile on the two boys. “It was nice to meet you both.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You as well, ma’am.”

Emma blinks, rendered speechless. If she’d understood Henry’s silent communication correctly and they are orphans, then they’re a damn sight more polite than she had been at their age. “Uh. Okay,” she manages to stutter as Henry leads them from the room. “Have fun!”

“Bye ma.”

David chuckles as the door closes and Emma stands with a knowing look. She doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s thinking. “She did say he needs more friends,” she reasons. Regina might not know that Henry told her she’d said it, but he did. She was _helping_. “What?”

Smirking, David shakes his head. “She’s still going to murder you.”

Emma wrinkles her nose but concedes, “Yeah, probably.”

 

.

.

.

 

Regina eyes Emma as they walk towards one another. She’d just come from dressing down one of the guards for being too handsy with the nobles and was on her way back to the Library to continue their magic lessons. That Emma has come in search of her has a knot forming in the pit of her stomach, certain that whatever reason Emma has for doing so doesn’t bode well for her.

“Don’t be angry,” Emma says as they both come to a stop mere inches in front of the other.

The knot tightens and Regina snorts. “Wonderful start,” she drawls. “Perhaps you’d like to punch me in the nose next, then tell it to stop bleeding?”

At the responding pout, she relaxes slightly. It can’t be _too_ serious if Emma is resorting to such manipulative tactics. She sighs. “What did you do now?”

Squaring her shoulders, Emma straightens and sucks in a breath. Regina narrows her eyes, having known the woman long enough to know that Emma is giving herself a pep talk. She’d laugh if she wasn’t also aware that when Emma needs to give herself said pep talks, it’s almost always because she’ll want to viciously murder the idiot.

When she glares at her, Emma immediately deflates. “We have guests,” she blurts in a rush of breath. “For dinner and… maybe the uh… foreseeable future too.”

“What?” Tone blank, she takes a step back as Emma reaches for her, and folds her arms as she demands, “Explain.”

Emma does, quickly. “Henry made some more friends,” she says and Regina softens instantly, a small smile curling her mouth without permission. “They’re orphans, I think and I—”

“You think?” She interrupts, latching on to the uncertainty in order to push aside how proud she is of their son finally being able to fit in. If Emma thinks she can use Henry as a valid excuse to keep inviting people to dinner, then she’ll keep doing it and dinner will turn into a never ending stream of unwanted faces at the table. “You didn’t check?”

Eyes rolling, Emma huffs. “How would I have done that? I can’t exactly ask two ten year olds if their parents are dead, Regina.”

 _Why the hell not;_ is what she almost asks but even thinking the question makes her cringe. She knows perfectly well why the hell not. It’s the same reason you don’t stab someone in the kidney, then ask them if it hurts because _of course_ it bloody well does; the answer is obvious.

Sniffing, she turns her head and takes a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Why Emma asked them to dinner beyond the reason of Henry and why she’d made the comment about them remaining for the foreseeable is also obvious.

If every orphan in the world was invited to the palace there’d be nowhere left for anyone else but— for Emma, for Henry— she can make an exception this once. “You realize they won’t be the only ones,” she says, letting go of her frustration for the moment.

“I know,” Emma replies softly.

Regina sighs, dropping her stance as she meets her gaze. “I’ll arrange housing for them in the construction effort. I don’t imagine it will be too difficult to find someone willing to take care of them all for a fair wage.”

Emma sucks in her lower lip and her eyes light up in a way that has Regina rolling her own. “The boys may remain here in the mean time,” she adds, barely stifling a laugh when Emma throws herself at her. “You’re as bad as Henry.”

“You love him.”

“Indeed I do,” she admits, understanding precisely where Emma’s thought process has taken her and unsurprised by her next words.

“Then I fail to see the problem.”

With another sniff, she drapes her arms around Emma’s waist, hiding her grin as she says, “If you take this as an invitation to bring home strays of your own, I’m throwing you in the dungeon.”

Emma pulls back, lips quirked in a grin. “What if I meet a really cute dragon?”

“Then it’s likely a friend of Maleficent’s,” she deadpans, “whom you _killed_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this chapter is significantly shorter than the rest. I felt like I’d just ruin it if I continued, so I didn’t. The next chapter will be up in a day or two (nearly finished, promise), and will be longer to make up for this one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late. The half a day Christmas lunch that I was meant to be having with family turned into 2 days of... whatever the hell it was I finally escaped. I'm back now, and somehow found the time to not only finish this, but write half of the next chapter too. I just had to get home so I could type it all up. Yay me?

Hand against her side, Emma stumbles through the halls. She’d injured herself during training and if that isn’t bad enough, she’s late to that stupid ceremony thing. The latter she’s pretty sure Regina won’t give a single toss about, but the former? She can hear the 'I told you so’s and the 'never again’s already. Regina can be an insufferable nag when she puts her mind to it and loath as Emma is to admit it, she’s going to deserve every single second of it.

This is what she gets for not listening to her father. He might go easy on her, but there’s a reason she’s never walked away from one of their sessions bleeding. She just hopes she hasn’t gone and gotten the poor sodding guard an execution date because she’d convinced him to humour her despite his best interests.

Closing in on their bedchamber, she breathes a sigh of relief and quickens her pace. The wound isn’t too bad, but it’d been bad enough to need stitches and the blood that’s slowly drying on her shirt makes it seem about ten times worse. One of her foster father’s used to say she bled like a stuck pig and she’d grinned while he fixed her up, thinking it was _cool_ because anything involving copious amounts of her own blood was awesome to her 8-year old self.

Reality, she finds, is both disgusting and tiring. If she wasn’t already late, she’d consider taking a bath, and then having a nap while she was at it.

Alas, she’s already tempted fate enough. Regina might not give a shit she missed the ceremony part of her inauguration, but if she misses the entire thing, she’s fairly confident she’ll have about a month of looking forward to sleeping in a different bed or, more likely, on the cold, hard floor where Regina can keep an eye on her still.

Pushing into the room, she grimaces at the sensation in her side. She prays that this celebration, or party (or whatever it is) doesn’t require her having to move around too much. If Regina happens to ask her to dance, or do something equally ridiculous, she doesn’t even need to imagine how horribly _that_ will go.

It would serve her right for bragging all those months ago when she proved she _could_ , in fact, dance. Regina had been beautifully flustered afterward, and more than eager for a repeat. They might not have been dating in the normal sense of the word, but that hadn’t stopped them from doing date-like… things.

Smiling as the memories fill her head, Emma makes her way over to the wardrobe with a slight hobble in her step. She searches through her clothes while wondering when the hell the numbing the healer promised would come after she drank the disgusting potion he gave her is supposed to kick in.

Avoiding any of the clothes she recalls Regina gleefully ripping her out of, she selects a pair of loose fitting, black trousers and a blouse she specifically remembers Regina saying reminds her of her mother. If she tries to look as unappealing as possible, then maybe she can hide what she’s done long enough to get Regina alone to explain without endangering the lives of everyone else.

Throwing the clothes on to the bed, she gingerly reaches for the bottom of her shirt and begins the slow, torturous process of pulling it up over her head. Her side screams in agony and she groans through the entire thing, wishing she could simply curl up in bed and sleep until the damn thing had healed and she was able to forget her own stupidity.

So focused on not making it any worse than it needs to be, she doesn’t hear the door open but freezes when she hears it thump shut again. “Regina?”

“No,” comes the amused reply. “Luckily for you, I think.”

Tearing the shirt from her head at the voice, Emma watches as Morgan crosses the room to where a mirror hangs on the wall. Her mouth gapes open when Morgan drives her fist into it before turning to her with a grin, the shattered pieces of glass falling to the floor.

“Oops.” She gestures to her side and questions, “Who’d you manage to piss off?”

Emma frowns, closing her mouth as she glances down at the wound. She sighs. “No one,” she says, looking back up. “It was an accident.”

Morgan shrugs before she tugs a pouch from her belt and tosses it on top of her clothes. “Sprinkle some of that on it. If Regina sees it...”

Emma nods. She doesn’t need to hear the rest. If Regina sees it, someone is bound to suffer and chances are it won’t just be her. “Thanks,” she says, plucking the pouch from the bed. She pauses, the string to open it wrapped around her finger. “Why are you helping me?”

Shoulders rolling with another shrug, Morgan leans back against the table beneath the window. “Regina cares about you, I figure by proxy I should probably do the same.” She smirks. “Besides, battle wounds are only attractive when they’re scars and, you know, obtained in battle.”

Emma scowls, dismissing her as she yanks on the string. She peers into the pouch before shoving her hand inside. When she pulls it back out with what looks like blue sand attached to her fingers, her head snaps up in surprise. “What is it?”

“Crystallized dragon’s blood,” Morgan replies, pushing from the table. She saunters over and snatches the pouch from her before she pushes Emma down on the bed and grabs her hand. “It is rare, so do not waste it.”

Emma closes her mouth, protest dying on her tongue as the pouch hits her stomach and Morgan drags a finger along her hand, sweeping most of the crystals back into it. When only a few remain, she guides the hand over her hip and brushes the rest onto the wound.

Stifling a gasp as her skin begins to tingle, Emma stares at the woman in silence. Morgan returns her stare for a moment before she clears her throat and stands. “I suggest you tell her sooner rather than later,” she says, lifting the pouch and tying it back up. “You’ll feel little pain now and it will heal, but it will leave a scar and she _will_ notice.”

Emma nods quietly, not entirely sure what just happened. She sits up with some difficulty and sucks in a breath. Though the mild pinch is a hell of a lot better than the searing burn of before, it still hurts. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lets the breath out slowly, and opens them again. “Thank you.”

Morgan eyes her briefly, then nods and Emma watches as she reattaches the pouch to her belt before she turns on her heel, crossing the room to the door. She pulls it open and slips through without another word, disappearing back to wherever she’d come from as Emma turns her attention to the shards still piled on the floor, and groans.

 

.

.

.

 

She’s lost count of how many glasses of wine she’s had. Snow keeps giving her looks, which let’s her know she’s probably had more than enough but she doesn’t care. Emma should be here but isn’t. She’d sent Morgan to find her, and now they’re both missing. If she were the jealous type, she’d think there might be something going on between the two of them, but no; Emma is loyal to the point she could pass as a puppy and Morgan is— Morgan. She belongs to an Evil Queen that no longer exists.

Knocking back another glass, Regina waves her hand, not bothering with the pitcher any longer. Another glass or three, and she might actually end up on the positive side of being blissfully drunk.

Or she _would_ , had Snow not chosen that exact moment to pluck the glass from her hand. Regina jerks up in her seat with a snarl. “You will return that, or you will lose your hand.” Snow sighs, head shaking as she places the glass down far enough away that Regina will have to stretch to reach it. She huffs instead, body slumping, too tired to make the effort.

“You ruin everything,” she says, almost pouting but not quite. “You’re not even my mother yet.”

The strangled sound that escapes Snow’s mouth makes her smile though if anyone asks, she’ll have no idea _why_.

When the doors to the Hall open, she forgets Snow altogether as Morgan steps through them, and she smiles for an altogether different reason entirely, eyes glued to the woman as she winds her way through the bodies milling about down on the floor.

“My Queen,” Morgan greets her with a curtsy. Regina hides her grin. “Your Captain will be along shortly.”

At the mention of Emma, she pouts outright. “What kept her?”

Morgan looks away and runs a hand through her hair. “Forgive me, but I think she’d prefer to answer that,” she says before she meets her gaze again. “She shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Neither liking nor appreciating the answer, Regina scowls as she questions, “Do you know?” Morgan nods. “Then tell me.”

“I will not.”

Not _cannot_ but _will not_.

Regina growls, noting the distinction. “Your Queen demands it.”

“She can certainly try,” Morgan responds dryly, snorting when her expression darkens. She flashes her a grin before the doors open a second time.

Eyes flicking towards them, the expression vanishes and Regina sighs, a weight easing from her chest while another settles warmly in her stomach. It has been a long time— too long, in fact, that she’d last seen Emma in a dress and the sight is breathtaking.

As others turn from their conversations and partners to take her in, Regina rises slowly. Knees weak from more than just the wine she’s consumed, she braces herself against the table. “Captain,” she purrs silkily the moment Emma draws close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“Apologies, my Queen. I had a little… accident that needed to be taken care of first.”

Concerned, she gives Emma a once-over, searching for anything amiss. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary beyond the rather well-fitting dress and the expected (but highly appreciated and absolutely mouth-watering) curves hidden beneath, she questions, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Emma smiles softly, touched. “Morgan helped.”

“Did she now?” Regina side-eyes the younger woman now seated to her right. She sees the smirk, tempted to smack it off but resists as she returns her attention to Emma. “Come. Sit. Eat— have some of the wine your mother refuses to let me drink.”

Emma bites her lip, stifling a grin. “I uh… I was actually hoping you might want to dance.”

Much like the sound Snow made only minutes prior, Regina makes one of her own as she vividly recalls the last time she’d danced with Emma, and suddenly regrets drinking quite so much. “I…” The shudder that ripples down her spine surprises her and she quickly sits back down before her legs give out.

Emma looks to Snow for an explanation. Her mother offers a small smile. “There’s a reason I won’t let her have any more wine,” she says, reaching over and patting Regina’s thigh when she starts to scowl again. “Come have something to eat. I’m sure by the time you’re done, she’ll be a little more sober and you can have your dance.”

Nodding, Emma rounds the table as Snow moves down a chair. She claims the newly vacated seat on Regina’s left just before Regina leans in and murmurs an apology in her ear. Her breath hitches when she turns her head, and she swallows thickly in sudden understanding. Bar Morgan, she doubts anyone else would see it and therefore can’t blame Snow for getting it wrong.

Although Regina is quite clearly drunk, she can tell by the flushed cheeks, the dilated pupils and husky rasp of her voice that it isn’t _just_ the wine that has her Queen so flustered, and Emma starts to grin.

“I forgive you,” she murmurs, her voice teasing when she adds, “just as soon as I get my dance.”

 

.

.

.

 

“Okay you two, time to break it up.” A big, clumsy hand lands on Emma’s shoulder. She feels the growl against her throat before she hears Regina’s voice.

“Back off, Charming.”

The hand disappears and she quietly grins to herself. Regina hasn’t released her since she’d coaxed her down to dance and it is— it is a wonderful feeling; being wanted, being possessed by a Queen, by Regina. The hands— the other hands that stroke her back with familiarity, with love and lust, want and need have created a warmth inside of her that she is as loath to give up as Regina is her.

“That’s my daughter you’re being handsy with, Your Majesty,” David says and his voice is so whiny that Emma can’t help but chuckle. “No one needs to see this.”

“Want, on the other hand.”

Morgan, Emma thinks less than half a second before the thought is confirmed by her mother. “Morgan!”

“What?” She laughs and in a voice that is quite clearly drunk says, “She’s not _my_ daughter.”

Snow huffs. “I’m never letting either of you drink again.”

“Come on, Your Majesty,” Emma murmurs as she reluctantly pauses their swaying and pulls from the embrace. To combat the pout that immediately transforms Regina’s face, she raises her voice and adds, “We can continue this is in the bedroom.”

“No one needs to hear that either!” Charming shouts before four decidedly different laughs fill the air.

“Gods, you’re both younger than I am,” Emma groans as the laughter dies down. “Stop being such prudes and go sex up each other.”

“Emma!”

Laughing again, she’s halfway to the door and leading Regina from the room before she has to listen to any more protests from her parents. She releases her once they’re out of sight of the others, and grins as Regina attaches herself to her back.

“Have I ever told you how delicious you look in a dress?”

“No,” she replies, her grin widening as they make their way slowly down the hall, walking a little harder when you add an extra 120lb-ish tipsy Queen to the equation. “You did say something similar though when we realized I’d stolen your panties by accident.”

Regina chuckles. “I still doubt that was an accident.”

“It was!” On her part at least. They were just there, on display— convenient while her own had seemingly wandered off to a better place (Regina’s Trophy Drawer), or something.

“Mhmm.” Regina hums, hands sliding up and over her hips to her stomach. Regina presses and rubs at her beneath the dress, creating warm sensations all along her skin as she purrs, “Was keeping them an accident too?”

“Oh no,” definitely not. Emma shakes her head and says, “That was on purpose.”

“Do you still have them?”

She chews the inside of her cheek, considering. She does but— would it be weird, or would Regina think it sexy that she’d kept them all this time? They’d only come with the clothes on their backs, and it just so happened… well. “I do.”

The rumbling growl from the chest crushed against her back is all the answer she needs. “You wouldn’t…” Regina pauses to swipe away the hair from her neck, pressing her lips to a pulse. “—by chance, happen to be wearing them now, would you?”

“Mmm, no,” she replies and the body sags against her. “Definitely not by chance.”

Regina perks right back up, fingers clawing in her dress just above the waistband of said panties. “You’re wearing them?”

“I am.”

There’s a pained groan and then, “Gods, where the fuck is our room?” as Emma laughs.

 

.

.

.

 

They’re barely through the door before Regina is tearing the dress up over her head and throwing it somewhere off to the side. Emma quickly grabs her hands and winds them around her waist as she leans in to kiss her.

Oblivious to what it is she’s trying to do, Regina refuses the distraction and almost immediately breaks the kiss, desperately wanting proof that Emma hadn’t lied to her. Emma holds her breath, bracing herself for the reaction she knows is coming as Regina zeroes in on the apex of her thighs, and grins devilishly.

“You really are—” Her eyes flicker up and she falls silent, head tilted in question at the look on Emma’s face. She sweeps her gaze back down, and frowns when she lands on a mark just above Emma’s right hip. “What… is that?”

“My accident?” Emma replies hopefully, wincing at the dark gaze she’s then leveled with. “Regina…”

“Does it hurt?” Emma shakes her head, lower lip disappearing between teeth. Regina glances back down again, first to the scar, then to the panties that leave nothing to the imagination. The heat in her veins rockets up a notch, or three, and her nostrils flare.

Tomorrow, she decides. In the morning, she will deal with whoever hurt her swan, but tonight— tonight she will enjoy what is being offered to her. “Off,” she demands, gesturing to what little of Emma’s clothes remain. “All of it.”

Emma complies instantly, snapping off her bra and flinging it in the same direction as her dress before she slips the panties down her legs and steps out of them. Regina closes the short distance between them, kissing her savagely as she gathers Emma into her arms and savours the warmth of her body, hands beginning to roam once more.

Lips demand Emma’s tongue, eagerly sucking it into a hot, wet mouth the moment she gives it. Hands wander aimlessly over her body, warming her from the inside out— clutching, squeezing, stroking whatever flesh they find as she moans, surrendering to Regina completely.

She blinks, surprised and confused when it all abruptly stops and Regina shoves her back. Her knees hit resistance before her back hits the bed, and then Regina is on top of her, biting her bottom lip and grabbing her breasts. Emma whimpers, not unfamiliar with the rough treatment, and certainly not averse to it either.

“Regina,” she gasps as lips trail along her jaw and teeth sink into her neck. She wants to touch— to feel, to drown in the heat of Regina’s naked body against her. “Your dress…”

A hand rises from her breast, the snap of fingers in the air.. The dress vanishes but the undergarments remain, and Emma whines. “Regina.”

Regina growls. “Shut up,” she demands, taking her mouth so that she has no choice. Emma moans loudly into the kiss, arching her back as the desire shoots through her because Regina is _angry_ and _fuck_ , there are very few things that can turn her on as much.

Regina dominates her mouth and Emma clutches at her thighs, clenching her own as heat pools between them. Her nipple hardens against a warm palm and fingers move to tweak them both— to pinch and pull as she squirms beneath Regina, lips and tongues writhing against one another.

The sounds of Emma’s pleasure fill the kiss, vibrating into Regina’s mouth and slithering hotly under her skin. She tears her mouth from Emma’s, needing more as she slides down. Head bowed, mouth paused above a breast, she raises her hand and snaps her fingers once more, shedding the remainder of her clothes as she straddles a thigh and rubs wet heat along its length.

She stifles her moan with flesh, sucking Emma’s breast into her mouth and swirling her tongue around its hardened tip. Emma groans her appreciation, one hand gripping the back of her head while the other comes down on the cheek of her ass, a harsh slap of skin against skin before the fingers claw and grasp, encouraging her to move her hips.

It’s a stuttered mess of jerky limbs and frantic rocking, interspersed with the sharp pierce of teeth and occasional panted swear falling from parted pale lips, and it’s perfect.

Regina comes within minutes but it’s not enough, not until she rises and Emma _sees_. Emma flips them and then Regina is on her back, mouth open wide in a tumultuous moan as two fingers thrust into her. There’s no pause, no hesitation or doubt, it’s just _Emma_ giving her exactly what she wants— what she _needs_.

Emma in control is perhaps the greatest rarity between them, but when she’s given the chance… the sounds Emma can pull from her, the way Emma simply gives and gives, and gives until she’s full to bursting and satisfied beyond compare.

It is an even greater wonder that she doesn’t allow Emma to do this more often and as she’s fucked in to her second orgasm of the night, Regina clutches Emma to her with everything she has, frozen for only a moment before she’s coming, coating Emma’s hand with her essence and seeping back into the mattress with a groan so sated that Emma laughs.

“I think you just fucked me into sobriety.”

Emma grins into her shoulder. “I doubt it,” she says, lifting her head. “You’re still swearing.”

Conceding the point with a hum, Regina starts to caress her back. “Perhaps we should try it the other way around?”

“Yeah.” Emma chuckles, “I have no idea how that’s going to work, but I’m willing to let you try.”

Regina smiles as she rises up on her elbows, hair falling in her face. She flicks her head to the side, confusion staining her brow when Emma laughs yet again. “What?”

“Nothing.” Regina squints and Emma bites her lip. “Just that— that little hair flip thing you just did, it’s like you’re preparing for a photo shoot instead of…” her words patter off into silence, cheeks only slightly pink.

Brow arched, Regina smirks. “Fucking the woman I love senseless?” she suggests at her continued silence and, yes alright, maybe she is still a _wee bit_ inebriated because she suddenly wants to see if she can make Emma blush even more, not least of all with her apparently filthy mouth. “Eating you out like you’re my last meal?”

The noise that escapes Emma then sobers them both. Regina gapes while at the same time Emma scowls, glaring down at herself. She _did not_ just giggle. “Oh my god.” Her head snaps up when she hears a snort. “Shut up.”

Regina surges up and kisses her. Emma almost gives in and kisses her back when the body beneath her starts to shake. Her scowl deepens and she turns her head. “I hate you.”

She shudders as the lips move to her jaw. “No you don’t,” Regina murmurs, amusement in her voice. She brings her hands up, stroking hips, ribs, breasts. “You love me.”

Emma grunts, mostly so she doesn’t moan, then does anyway. “You think too highly of yourself.”

Teeth nip at her jaw as a hand slides between her breasts and up to her throat. Regina grabs her gently, thumb following the trail of her mouth. “I think you’re adorable,” she counters, grinning when Emma huffs.

Emma has the thought to say _we_ _’re done here_ in which she’ll climb off, slip into the sheets and then just pout for the rest of her life. She doesn’t though, mostly because the success of it actually stopping Regina from doing what _she_ wants is nothing more than a delusion but more importantly because it’s about 0.0001% of what she herself really wants to do.

Traitorous as her body is, she’s still unbelievably turned on. Watching Regina come twice only to then be on the receiving end of her heavy petting has a way of shutting everything else in her brain down that doesn’t involve fucking like rabbits.

Sucking in a breath, she blinks back the thought and then down at the woman beneath her. “Regina?”

A brow rises, a grin playing along plump lips. “Hmm?”

“Could we maybe stop talking now and fuck some more?”

Eyes meeting, the grin widens as Regina informs her, “I am merely waiting until you decide to straddle my head, dearest.”

“Oh,” she breathes, mouth watering as her thoughts and body suddenly overflow with unadulterated _want_. “Okay then.”

As she rises to comply, Regina continues to map her body, caressing over hips and down to her backside. Knees on either side of her head, Emma hums, feeling the warm breath on her folds as Regina inhales her scent. She presses a hand to the wall above the bed and twists the other through silken hair

Regina tugs, bringing Emma down to her mouth, moaning as she buries her face between thighs and gets her first taste of the night. Emma is all heat and slickness, tart and creamy— delicious. Regina keeps her explorations slow, deliberate as she enjoys the weight on her chin and the warm, smooth press of skin against her cheeks.

Emma is so soft, so gorgeous and unbelievably responsive. Moans and whimpers, muffled by thighs fill her ears. Regina closes her eyes, soaking in the sounds, the scent, the flavour that coats her lips and tongue, wasted on her nose and chin as Emma rolls her hips and rides her face, fingers flexing in her hair while she draws ever closer to her release.

Tongue gliding along her slit, Regina prods at her entrance with the tip and waits for the hitch of breath before plunging inside. Emma groans, long and loud, and Regina hooks an arm around her thigh, finding her clit with a thumb and pressing down.

She needs to feel Emma come, to have the taste she’s come to love spill more freely into her mouth. She presses harder and starts to rub, tongue wriggling deeper on a moan she’s helpless to resist. There is nothing more pleasing in life, she’s found, than having Emma in this way and the truth of it stirs within her stomach, her own desire flaring once more.

When Emma contracts around her tongue, her eyes pop open to watch— to soak in the sight of Emma with her head thrown back. Her pleasure is undeniable as it scrawls itself across her face and seeps into the actions of her body; chest thrust out as she arches her back and cries out Regina’s name.

Nearly a full minute passes before Emma gathers enough strength to move and Regina mourns the loss despite the relief of being able to breath properly. In the silence of their room, she can hear Emma’s breathing; loud and ragged, and smiles to herself.

Placing a hand on her thigh to let her know they are far from done, she turns her head, and blinks at the conspicuously empty wall across the room. She frowns. “Emma?”

Emma clasps her hand, entwining their fingers as she hums. “Hmm?”

“Where is my mirror?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse isn't musing, and I barely managed to finish this. Sorry, I know I've said this a million times before, but apparently there are people out there who still don't understand just how much of a bitch I am to my muse. Writing is supposed to be fun, that's why if I ever get any decent at it, I won't ever be well-known or published. I don't like deadlines and I don't like to force myself. If you don't want to wait, then please, for the sake of my sanity, don't. Just stop reading anything I do manage to write.

“Majesty. If you’re looking for the Captain, she’s—”

“Not here?” The guard nods, a look of confusion on his face when Regina smiles and says, “Good.” She grabs him by the throat and her nails bite into his skin. “You harm a single hair on her head again and you will rue the day, so help me.”

The flash of betrayal in his eyes has her barking out a laugh. His lips part and she squeezes his throat before he can speak. “She didn’t tell me, you fool.”

She scowls in his face, tempted to crush his windpipe for daring to think the two of them could keep the truth from her. She is the Queen, the people of this world might not know her as she once was, but they know _of_ her and they should know well enough to fear her. That she is tempered while within the presence of her precious swan and her do-gooder parents, however, seems to have given _some_ people the wrong impression, and she intends to correct this mistake as quickly as possible.

“Heed my warning for there will not be another.” Sneering, she shoves him away from her and watches as he stumbles back, coughing while he rubs his throat. “You are dismissed, Jonas.”

The temptation to kill him remains even after he is gone from her sight, having bowed and scurried off with his tail tucked between his legs the second he was dismissed. Tempered is, perhaps, the greatest understatement she’ll ever concede, as even without Emma’s presence, she continues to resist her impulses.

Although she mostly refrains out of fear of what Emma will think and by extension _do_ should she ever bear witness to the Evil Queen side of her, there is a part of her stuck on the events of the previous night and the reminder that the guard isn’t the only one she should be furious with.

It is a reminder she is sorely in need of, as up until this very moment, it hadn’t occurred to her in the slightest. It should have considering when she awoke that morning Emma wasn’t in bed next to her and as it is now the afternoon, it’s quite clear that Emma is in fact _avoiding_ her. She would be proud for Emma knowing her so well, if the realization didn’t anger her even further.

Twirling a wrist, she summons a small, handheld mirror and murmurs the woman’s name before tapping the glass. She gapes at the image that appears and a new, familiar feeling bubbles in her chest; panic.

She vanishes from the barracks, appearing at the construction site in a puff of smoke that hasn’t quite dissipated when she shouts,. “What the hell are you doing?”

Perched precariously on the roof, Emma falters and immediately drops the hammer in her hand to grab hold of one of the beams, the sound of it hitting the floor beneath her echoing back. Heart racing, her eyes dart to the ground where Regina glares up at her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Are you?!”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters beneath her breath. Nice as it is to be cared about to the extent Regina quite obviously does, the woman is one day going to drive her mental with her overprotective streak. “I’m trying to _help_ , Regina. You’re making them do this because of _me_ , after all.”

“I am _paying_ them to do this because it is their _job_ , and because children deserve to be raised in a nice, loving environment where they are free to _be_ children. I did not do this because I wanted you to have yet another way to kill yourself!”

The pitch of her voice escalates until Regina is practically screeching up at her, and Emma groans. “This is getting old,” she snaps, frustration in her tone. “Despite what you think, I’m not completely incompetent. I know what I’m doing!”

She squeaks, recognizing the smoke around her feet for what it is before she’s unceremoniously dumped on her ass in front of Regina. “Then I can only surmise, Miss Swan, that you are _deliberately_ putting yourself in harms way and rooting for the day I have a goddamn heart attack!”

Her nostrils flare as she shouts and Emma stares at her in silence. If it were up to Regina, she’d be locked away in a padded cell to keep her safe. If it were up to her, Regina would be in that same cell because she’s fucking _crazy_.

“You could at least _tell_ me when you’re about to do something stupid,” Regina hisses when the minutes pass in continued silence.

Emma hangs her head, sighing because _yes_ , she could do that. She doesn’t think anything she’s done has been stupid per se, but it’s been clear to her since the day in the Yard that Regina is a worrier.

Seeing the expression taking over Emma’s face, Regina softens. She’s overreacting, _again._ She’s known it from the moment Emma accused her of trying to kill her. She knows but she just can’t _stop_. “Emma…” There’s a soft laugh and she’s dropping to her knees, uncaring of the people around them or what the ground might be doing to her dress as she cups Emma’s face in the palm of her hand. “I’m—.”

Emma shakes her head. “You care,” she interrupts the apology, peering up at her. “Don’t apologize for that, but this… this is ridiculous, Regina. As much as I adore you for wanting to, you can’t protect me from everything.”

Brushing a thumb over her cheek, Regina sighs before smiling hesitantly. “I wasn’t apologizing for caring, Emma. I was apologizing for blowing it out of proportion.”

Emma clasps the hand in her own with a chuckle, bringing it to her mouth. “You’re the Queen of blowing things out of proportion,” she teases, kissing her palm. “It’s cute in a my-girlfriend-is-freaking-terrifying kind of way.”

Regina raises a brow in genuine surprise and lowers their hands. “You _like_ this?” she questions, dismissing the actual words because that tone says everything Emma hadn’t. “I do believe this is the second time you’ve tried to gloss over the fact you apparently find me terrifying.”

“Well…” Cheeks pink, Emma clears her throat and glances down at their hands. “I know it’s more concern than anger, but they tend to translate the same and I haven’t exactly been—” Her eyes flicker up and she wears a lopsided grin when she says, “…subtle about how I feel when you get angry.”

“No.” Regina gives a husky little laugh, warmed by the confession. “Subtlety is certainly not your strong suit, though if you weren’t such a blunt, clumsy oaf then I doubt I would be as drawn to you as I am, so perhaps our odd little attractions balance one another out.”

“There is a compliment in there somewhere,” Emma murmurs as the grin grows.

“Yes,” Regina admits, smiling softly. “Somewhere.”

Another silence sets in and the adoration Regina is certain they _both_ wear in those few, quiet minutes makes her teeth ache. Then Emma laughs and the moment is gone.

“You know since we started this relationship, we’ve gotten kind of _really bad_ at arguing?”

Regina tilts her head in thought. They used to be good at getting in each others faces and pushing every single button until one or— as had been the case a majority of the time— _both_ of them exploded. 90 out of a 100% of the time, it would result in long nights of passion, exhaustion the only thing capable of dampening their anger, followed by a few days of avoidance because neither of them were particularly good at apologizing or admitting they were wrong.

She’d noted the changes in them when Emma moved in, but they’re becoming more noticeable now that the curse is broken and they’ve been forced to adapt to this new life.

“Perhaps that is for the best,” she eventually says. Much as she’d like to scar certain people, it likely wouldn’t do for some random person to stumble upon the Queen and Captain having sex in whatever room they happened to stumble into themselves. “Or perhaps you’ll think twice when I confess to knowing it was Jonas who injured you.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “What did—”

“What do you think?” She interrupts, snapping. “I threatened him, which is a mercy he didn’t deserve. I won’t be surprised if in a few days there’s a rumour going around about the Evil Queen being soft because I didn’t murder him like I should have.”

Dropping her head into her other hand, Emma groans, “How did you even find out?”

“Do you think the eyes and ears at my disposal are any less abundant as Queen than they were as Mayor?” Regina shakes her head, fond exasperation in her tone. “Honestly, your naivety astounds. Not _all_ the children are starving street urchins, dear.”

Emma’s head whips up, a look of growing horror on her face. “You pay children to _spy_ for you?”

“Compared to the alternative, is that so terrible?”

She frowns. “Well no, but—”

Regina squeezes her hand. “The world here is different, my love. Most of these children don’t lose their parents to old age or accidents. They lose them to wars, to greed, to petty disputes with their neighbours. They learn to live on their own terms. You want to help them and so do I but the truth of the matter is that some of them won’t _want_ help, not in the way you are choosing to give it.”

Emma’s face falls in understanding. It is a reality that should have occurred to her already, but for some reason hadn’t. In her younger years, she was the exact same way. A lot of people had tried to help her but after being disappointed by too many who failed, she’d given up hope altogether and learned to rely on herself and no one else.

It was how most orphans ended up on the streets to begin with.

“Oh.”

Giving one last squeeze, Regina releases Emma’s hand and stands. “Go back to your little project,” she says when Emma lifts her head. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Pale lips turn up in a smile before Emma jumps to her feet and shakes her head. “Nah. I’ll find something else to do— think Pongo’s finally figured out his new leash and escaped yet?”

Chestnut eyes widen briefly at the thought. “Please don’t,” Regina breathes out. “Knowing my luck, if he does he’ll run into the forest and I really will have a heart attack when someone informs me you’ve chased after him.”

“Just,” she continues, gesturing to the building behind them. “Go, play with your hammer. You wanted to help, so help.”

Emma steps into her, smile widening. “You going to keep worrying about me?”

Regina snorts. “Yes,” she admits with an eye roll. “You’re an idiot, something terrible is bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But,” Emma drawls, hands slipping across hips.

“But?” Regina feigns confusion. “There was no but, dear, disaster clings to you... much like a bad smell.”

“Rude.”

Grinning, she leans in and kisses her, sucking on Emma’s lower lip softly before they part. “But,” she concedes. “You know your limits, and after the incident with Jonas, I need to trust that you’ve learned your lesson.”

 

.

.

.

 

Emma spent most of the day helping the workers Regina hired to build the orphanage. They were still a long way away from done, but helping them made her feel a lot less useless than sitting behind a desk waiting for something to happen did.

Afterward, David came to get her for their daily sparring session. Today’s lesson was about the different types of weapons one can use and which suited her best.

If David is to be believed, she’s a pole arm kind of gal— lightweight and long reach. She _did_ feel a lot more comfortable going at him with the [bill hook](https://www.google.co.nz/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiUjpa2puHTAhXBkJQKHTrCD6MQjRwIBw&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.thehighroad.org%2Farchive%2Findex.php%2Ft-758393.html&psig=AFQjCNG7kg2jZqlTaBU05hiJtQTSIidY4g&ust=1494367356913413), but she still prefers her gun to anything else.

Having said goodbye to her father fifteen minutes prior, she’s walking through the marketplace on her way back to the palace when someone bumps into her shoulder. She winces as the unexpected jolt reminds her she’s pushed herself too far, but she’s content to let it go and continue on before a familiar voice draws her attention.

“Captain.”

She pauses and lifts her head, turning slightly. “Morgan,” she replies casually. “Something I can help you with?”

Turning fully to face the woman, she raises a brow at the shake of a head and Morgan smiles softly. “I was about to ask you that,” she says, gesturing to her shoulder. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I figured.” Emma waves dismissively and assures, “I’m fine, I just… pushed myself a little too far.” Noticing the redhead behind Morgan, her gaze shifts and both brows rise this time when she realizes; she’s met this person before. “Amanda.”

Amanda smiles. “Hello again, Captain.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Emma, numerous times,” she teases, admiring the hint of a blush that enters the woman’s cheeks before she changes topic. “How are you? Jade?” She’s seen the girl hanging around with Henry and a few other friends since dinner that night, but she’s never intruded on their time together and hasn’t really spoken to her, or her mother, since.

“We are quite well,” Amanda replies kindly. “Jade adores the Prince, can’t stop talking about him when she comes home.”

Emma grins, unusually proud of her 10-year old son and not at all surprised he seems able to charm anyone he meets, be they relative or stranger. “Good. That’s good.” She glances to Morgan who wears a (mostly) blank expression, though the aura of impatience surrounding her is a dead giveaway. “Well… I’ll let you two get back to…”

“Shopping,” the former Captain answers the unasked, smirking when Emma shudders. She inclines her head to Emma’s shoulder. “If that starts to hurt too much, tell Regina, she’ll fix it for you.”

Emma nods, about to thank her for the suggestion when Morgan turns and walks away. Her brows furrow in genuine confusion before she catches sight of something and looks down, the grin spreading wider across her face in realization that Morgan and Amanda are holding hands.

“Sorry for interrupting your date,” she mutters, amused as she spins on her heel with a chuckle.

 

.

.

.

 

“You know your limits,” Regina mimics the words from earlier, ample sarcasm in her tone this time around. “Next time I have faith in you, do the decent, responsible thing and remind me of this moment.”

Emma groans, partly in irritation but mostly in pleasure as Regina eases the stiffness in her shoulders with warm, skilled hands. The press of her fingers combined with the buzz of magic penetrating her skin is a welcome relief that far outweighs whatever she might feel in regards to the sulky attitude she’s been getting ever since she wandered into the kitchens where she found her majestic royalness barking orders at the staff, and promptly distracted her with complaints of sore muscles.

“When was the last time you had a massage?” She opens her mouth to ask if never counts but not a word escapes before Regina adds, “Honestly, these knots are atrocious. How you manage to even move your arms is beyond me.”

Rather than try to speak again, Emma simply grunts before another moan rumbles in her chest. She makes a mental note to find a way to actually give Morgan that thank you the next time she sees her because as much as she doesn’t _want_ to think about Regina having touched anyone else in this way, she’s too pragmatic and so far beyond grateful she now knows about this particular talent of Regina’s, that she can’t even be bothered to entertain thoughts of jealousy.

“You are a _goddess_ ,” she mumbles into the crook of her arm, melting deeper into the bed beneath her.

Regina snorts. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Despite the words, her hands trail lower, firmly rubbing along Emma’s back, palms sweeping over her hips and back up to her ribs before coming back down to knead her lower back. “How does this feel?”

A sound much like a purr escapes Emma’s lips.

Regina chuckles but says nothing, continuing her ministrations and lulling Emma into a shallow sleep.

 

It can’t have been more than five minutes when her eyes flutter open and Emma sees Regina across the room, her back to her while she messes about with something on the table she’s stood in front of.

Emma tries to turn from her stomach but only manages to get an inch off the mattress before she drops back down with a weak groan, the move taking far too much effort out of her to be healthy to attempt again.

“I may have overdone it with the magic a little.”

“No,” she argues, “you really didn’t.” She feels more relaxed than she ever has in her entire life. If anything, she wants to feel like this _a lot_ more often; like jelly— delicious, satisfied, _exhausted_ jelly. “I feel great.”

Popping something into her mouth, Regina faces her, eyes sparkling. “If you’re attempting to butter me up so I won’t yell at you, you might want to save what little strength you have left.”

Sighing, Emma closes her eyes. If she’s too tired to move, then she’s definitely too tired to argue and if she’s too tired to argue, then going back to sleep is the best option she has as far as she’s concerned. She is, however, aware that it isn’t the most viable option considering who Regina is, but that doesn’t mean she can’t at least give it a shot.

As the scuff of the Queen’s boots is as familiar to her Captain as the rhythmic click of the Mayor’s heels back in Storybrooke had been to her Sheriff, she knows the exact moment when Regina begins to move closer to her.

“Em-ma.” The light beneath her lids darkens as Regina looms over her, breath warm against her skin before she feels the lips on her cheek and the nose brush against the lobe of her ear. “I only meant that I didn’t intend to yell at you.”

Emma cracks an eye open, skeptical. Regina _always_ intends to yell at her, sometimes she wonders if Regina even _knows_ that’s what she intends. This time is no different, she’s almost certain.

Regina smiles and slides a hand beneath her jaw, tilting her head around and back before capturing her mouth with a kiss.

Okay, so maybe she was wrong.

Maybe.

“Really,” Regina murmurs in reassurance when they part. “I knew this was a possibility, just as you know how much I like to grouse— you’re not going to start begrudging me my moments now, are you?”

Biting her lower lip as she smiles, Emma shakes her head and Regina grins. “Good,” she says, then crawls on to the bed. “I had dinner brought up. I didn’t think you’d be persuaded to move any time soon.”

“Persuaded?” Emma laughs but even _that_ feels like too much effort and it becomes another groan before she admits, “Even if I wanted to move, I very much doubt it’s a possibility right now.”

Regina frowns at her, then cups her cheek. “You feel fine,” she says, running the hand down along her jaw and into the crook of her neck where fingers curl. Her skin tingles in that pleasant way it tends to whenever Regina uses magic, and she sighs again, awash in comfort and semi-aroused.

“Like I said—” She grins, the adoration she has for this woman mirrored in the look that stares back at her as she replies, “I feel great.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey.”

Morgan throws a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Captain,” she drawls. “The Queen finally let you out of her sight, I see.”

Emma grins. Despite all their conversations during the previous week, Regina has been decidedly clingy lately. Not that she minds all that much, really. “Yeah,” she says. “I think she finally realized I’m going to get into trouble with or without her and decided I could fend for myself for a while.”

Smirking, Morgan nods. “She’ll let up eventually.”

The thought causes Emma to grimace. As crazy as Regina’s protective streak can be, she’s starting to find it more endearing than anything. Regina loves with everything she has, and being on the receiving end of that means the world to someone like her.

“I hope not,” she admits ruefully. “I kind of like all the attention.”

Morgan nods again, a look of understanding passing over her face. “I know what you mean.”

Emma doesn’t question it and instead crosses the balcony to lean against the railing beside her. “What’s the deal with you two?” She asks before she can stop herself. She’s curious— has been from the moment Regina said her name. She quickly adds, “You don’t have to tell me, I just…”

“Want to know,” Morgan finishes her sentence and flashes her a grin as Emma sighs. “You know you have nothing to worry about,” she assures. “To Regina, you’re everything she’s ever wanted and more.” She turns around and settles her back against the railing, arms folding against her chest. “I apologize if my goading you has made you doubt that.”

Head shaking, Emma stares ahead. “Maybe it’s crossed my mind every so often but…” She chuckles before meeting Morgan’s gaze. “She kind of makes it impossible for me to doubt her. It’s like she _knows_ the exact moment I start to consider it, and then I’m berating myself for even _almost_ thinking it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she could read my mind.”

Morgan snorts. “She might as well be able to. Regina has an uncanny knack for being able to read people… I guess that’s part of the reason she’s so good at being Queen.”

“Not a fan of the role then?”

She releases a mirthless laugh and admits, “Of all the terrible things I have done, and I have done many; pretending to be the Queen is one of _the_ worst experiences of my life.”

Emma nods, looking back out over the field below them. She’s heard a few tales of the Black Knight. Morgan was— perhaps will be once again— Regina’s most trusted; protector, assassin, executioner. It isn’t something she’s contemplated much but what little thought she has spared on the matter, she doesn’t think it would be fair to compare this world to the one she grew up in, which is why she prefers not to think about it at all.

“It’s not fair to take advantage of what you know about me,” she says, vaguely amused that it only now just occurs to her. Feeling the eyes on her, she elaborates, “Distracting me. You still haven’t answered my question.”

A sigh has her turning, mirroring Morgan’s position as she leans back against the railing. “I don’t think the story is mine to tell,” Morgan reasons. “It is as much my story as it is hers, but it is not you and I who are together and I fear telling you would do more harm than good—”

“You loved each other,” Emma interrupts. The laugh she gets this time has mirth aplenty, and she frowns. “You didn’t?”

Morgan shakes her head. “Oh, I loved her. I would be lying if I said I didn’t still, but when I met her, she was the Evil Queen.” Emma opens her mouth but Morgan holds up a hand, preempting the question as she explains, “She was capable of it. There will never be a time where Regina _isn_ _’t_ capable, but the kind of love she showed back then wasn’t… it simply wasn’t. What we had is not something you can understand without being apart of it.”

Straightening from the railing, she runs a hand through her hair and sighs again. “Suffice it to say, what we had is in the past. The truth, Emma Swan, is that my heart belongs to a woman that no longer exists. This Queen, the woman she has become— _you_ are her True Love. When you finally understand and accept what that truly means, you will do far more than berate yourself for ever daring to even _think_ of doubting her.“

Emma swallows thickly, rendered speechless by the sheer passion of those words.

Morgan smiles halfheartedly. “Sorry,” she murmurs softly. “I may harbour a slight… jealousy of my own but as I said, you have nothing to worry about with me. Regina would sooner murder me than allow anything to come between the two of you, and I would never try. She would do anything for you, a truth you will discover for yourself sooner or later, I’m sure.”

Emma stares, at a loss. People can tell you what they see, what they hear and what they understand of another person, but so rarely can their perceptions see intention. The stories she’s been told of this woman standing before her are nothing, she realizes. What people saw was cruelty, blood lust, loyalty— a knight who obeyed her Queen beyond all reason. What people didn’t see, she is certain, is the sheer love that radiates off of Morgan in this moment.

“I…” She closes her mouth and pushes from the railing as sudden clarity dawns on her. She knows this story. Regina _did_ tell her but among all the other unbelievable things Regina had told her over those two weeks of trying to convince her she wasn’t crazy, Emma hadn’t even _considered_ this. “I have to go.”

Morgan inclines her head. “True love,” she reminds her. “Try not to forget again, hmm?”

Nodding distractedly, Emma doesn’t so much as bolt as she does leave quickly; a woman on a mission.

 

.

.

.

 

“Snow White!” Barging into the library, Regina draws to a halt as every eye in the room falls on her. She blinks, glancing from one face to another, then raises a brow, forgetting for a moment that she needs to strangle her nemesis as she questions, “What is going on?”

Snow beams brightly back at her from where she sits on the floor. “I figured out what I can do!”

Taking a moment to count the number of children currently occupying her _private_ library, Regina sighs. There are at least twenty of them, all seated on the floor in front of Snow with books in their laps. “A teacher,” she drawls, lids fluttering briefly as she breathes in, then out. She shakes her head. “Really, Snow? From a Queen, to this?”

“You only have yourself to blame,” Snow teases, “ _daughter_.”

“Oh,” Regina groans, a wave of nausea rolling straight through her. “No,” she states, vehement, and spins around to leave. “Oh hell no.”

“I was joking,” Snow shouts after her, laughing her idiotic little head off.

“I don’t care,” she mutters, marching down the hall as a shudder ripples down her spine. Her stomach heaves at the mere thought, and she gags. “No no no.” Never again. Not ever. Not even if the world was collapsing and being related to Snow White was the only way to save it. “I need bleach.”

“For?”

_My brain._

Stopping and spinning to face the voice, relief— sweet, sweet relief floods her system. “Oh thank god,” she says, pointing back to the doors of the library. “Go in there and murder your mother for me. I’d do it myself, but I don’t want to upset you.”

Emma smiles as she moves toward her. “Tell me why, and I might.”

“Liar,” she accuses, latching on to a hip. She breathes in deeply, and hums contently. “Your mother is an awful, awful person,” she murmurs, burying her face in Emma’s neck. “She drove me out of my own library with her… evilness.”

Chuckling, Emma wraps her in an embrace.

“It’s not funny,” she mumbles petulantly and swats her backside.

Emma jumps. “Not funny,” she repeats. “Right… what exactly did she do?”

Regina wrinkles her nose, loath to repeat such a horrendous thing. “If you’re not going to kill her, I’d rather forget it happened and not speak of it… ever.” _Daughter. Really._ Her head jerks up, hit with a thought and panicked as she stares into amused green eyes. “You don’t want to get married, do you?”

Emma’s mouth falls open, lips moving wordlessly.

Regina waits patiently.

“Uh…”

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Regina supplies as her jaw snaps shut. “Give me something here, Emma.” Inhaling deeply, Emma holds her breath but when she says nothing, Regina’s gaze narrows. “If you wish to suffocate to death, I’ll gladly oblige you _after_ you’ve answered the question.”

Emma chokes on a laugh, body relaxing against her. “Look,” she starts, but after a straight minute, it’s clear to Regina that’s all she has. Regina pinches her hip and Emma winces. “Ow. I’m trying to… honestly, I don’t want to answer that question. Why are you even asking?”

“Because I don’t want to,” she replies bluntly. “I love you, more than life itself, but I refuse to put myself through that again, and by that, I am referring to the familial ties I would have to your mother… again.”

“But if you did want to—”

“I do not,” she snaps. She’d honestly rather her own mother back over Snow White.

She shudders. Preferably, she’s happy with neither.

“I get that,” Emma assures her slowly, “but if you _did_ , you’d want it to be me?”

Regina frowns. What the hell kind of question is _that_? She loves Emma. They’re True Love. Who else would she bloody well marry, if not her? “Of course,” she says, exasperated. “What sort of ridiculous question is that?”

“Oh, _I_ _’m_ the one with ridiculous questions?” Emma chuckles, shaking her head as she says, “You just asked me to kill my own mother, then proposed.”

Regina scowls. “I did not.” She pouts at Emma’s grin and insists, “I _didn_ _’t_.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

Eyes rolling, she deadpans, “If I’m supposed to be surprised you weren’t listening to a word I said, I am overjoyed to have to disappoint you.”

Shrugging, Emma tightens her hold and widens her grin. Chestnut eyes rolls for a second time as the adoration scrawls itself across Emma’s face. Her entire family consists of irritating, dopey looking idiots.

“I was listening,” Emma confesses as she brings their heads together, noses brushing.

Regina chews the inside of her cheek, barely able to resist snapping again because while she _doesn_ _’t_ want to get married again, and her reasons are far less about Snow White than they are her lack of belief in the institution itself, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to _know_ Emma’s answer to her question.

Emma kisses her then, short-circuiting her brain for a single, blissful moment before she pulls back and Regina sighs, despising the loss. “I don’t want to either,” Emma confesses quietly. “I know my parents will expect it eventually, but since neither of us wants to, I guess it’s them who’ll be disappointed in the end.”

“That…” Regina groans, unable to finish. It’s what she _wanted_ to hear, and yet—

And yet, there is an ache in her chest that wasn’t there seconds before, and she is far too familiar with the sensation to pretend it is anything more than the disappointment she didn’t know to expect. She groans again and tries to bury her face back in the crook of Emma’s neck but a hand captures her jaw before she can.

Emma tilts her head back, brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re upset.”

“No.” When Emma simply stares, the look one of clear disbelief, Regina sighs and rolls her eyes, _again_. “A little,” she admits to what she thinks is a nod of understanding.

Emma caresses her cheek. “We can always do something else to declare our love of each other to the masses,” she whispers, an impish little grin peeking out from the corners of her mouth. “If it’s something you need… or want, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Regina closes her eyes as she presses forward once more, resting their heads together. She murmurs, “You’re contradicting yourself, love.”

“And you’re not?”

“Point,” she concedes, though not entirely as she says, “Mine, however, stems from conflict between my heart and mind, what’s your excuse?”

“Oh, my heart and mind are in sync.” The caress stops and she opens both eyes as Emma cups her cheek. “They both tell me to do whatever you want,” she adds, tone taking on a playful lilt. “Who cares what I want?”

“Certainly not me,” Regina responds dryly, laughing softly at the return of that grin. “You’re an abomination, you do know that?”

Emma nods. “But I’m _your_ abomination.”

“Lucky me.”

“Nope,” she disagrees, thumb passing over her lower lip. “Lucky me.”

Regina threatens the digit with a teasing snap of her teeth. “Do not argue with your Queen, dear.”

“Fine.” Emma smirks, thumb stilling as rubs their noses together and says, “I’ll just let your soul mate do it for me.”

Regina freezes, her eyes wide. She’d known Emma would find out sooner or later, she just assumed she’d be the one to tell her. “She told you?”

“No.” Emma shakes her head. “She just didn’t know _you_ told me back in Storybrooke and when she started talking, I just… pieced the two together.”

“Ah.” She’d forgotten entirely about that conversation.

“You could have, you know…” Emma pauses with another kiss, humming into it. They both sigh as they part, and she says, “—when we got here, I mean.”

“And miss those sweet little growls of yours every time you grew jealous?” Mock outraged, Regina questions, “Just who do you take me for, Miss Swan?” A jealous Emma played hell with her libido, even if Emma’s jealousy was completely asinine.

Smiling, Emma drops the hand back to her waist. “I think I might like her.”

“Good. She is an exceptional woman.” She’d be more surprised if Emma _didn_ _’t_ warm up to Morgan. Very few could resist, herself included. Although, struck with another thought, Regina pouts. “No more growls?”

Laughter puffs warmly against her mouth. “I might be able to conjure a few for you every once in awhile…” Emma grins. “— _if_ you ask nicely.”

Regina nods. She can do nice if it’s worth the effort. In fact—

With a mischievous grin of her own, she draws her lips across a pale cheek and purrs, “Would it help you to know your possessive streak makes me wet? Would _nice_ be telling you that I _ache_ whenever I hear that gravely little rumble build in your throat?” Emma moans, and Regina mimics the sound as the next thought enters her head.  “Shall I _ask_ by telling you I want nothing more than to beg you to throw me down and take me with your mouth?”

As the hands on her hips glide around to her backside and grip her firmly, she grinds their lower halves together, forcing another moan from those delectable lips. Pulling her head back, the grin splits her face. “Shall I take that to be a yes, dear?” Emma quickly nods. “Then I do believe you have your task for the day, Miss Swan.”

 

.

.

.

 

Hours later they’re still in bed. Regina dozes in and out while Emma plays with this one escaped curl. After sex, it’s always the first thing she notices; the way the curl falls down the side of Regina’s face while they bask in the afterglow.

Shifting closer, she keeps the curl around her finger and bows her head, brushing her mouth over the scar along Regina’s upper lip. An appreciative hum greets her before the head moves beneath her and Regina captures her mouth. Chestnut eyes flash an instant later and Regina rolls her again, only this time Emma is on her back while Regina straddles her waist.

Usually, this is when Emma knows the second round is about to start but since they’d just finished their third, the move confuses her a little and Regina seems to sense it as she breaks the kiss and straightens.

“You’re softer today,” she murmurs. Emma frowns, the confusion growing, and Regina smiles, pecking her on the mouth. “You have a very…” She moans exaggeratedly mid-way through and her voice drops to a silky purr before she says, “— distinct way of bringing me pleasure, dear.”

Emma tilts her head thoughtfully, the confusion replaced by understanding. She might be more of a giver when it comes to them in the bedroom, but she’s never been soft; she’s more the type who gives more than needed, sometimes more than you want or think you can take. They were compatible from the start _because_ Regina is the opposite— not exact, but enough that they have both always been, as Regina had said, _distinct_ in their pleasure.

When Regina says _soft_ , what she means is _loving,_ gentle, tender— all those things Emma tries to avoid because that’s not who she is… at least not for the wrong person.

“Not rough enough for you?”

Regina grins. “On the contrary,” she husks. “You are always so delightfully _punishing_ , and this time was no exception.” She rises then, and Emma pouts as she’s forced to let go of her special curl. She stops the second Regina, with a knowing chuckle, lies down on top of her. “Your odd fascination with that particular piece of my hair aside, I can only assume since you didn’t deny my accusation, I wasn’t imagining things?”

She shrugs. “It’s not odd,” she replies. Tone teasing, she adds, “It’s the only thing about you that I’m fond of,” and Regina laughs. Emma sighs a moment later and admits, “No, you weren’t imagining things. I feel… closer to you.”

A brow rises. “Something to do with the soul mate thing, I assume?”

She nods, teeth tugging at her lower lip. When Regina told her the story of the fairy leading her to a tavern where she found her soul mate, Emma didn’t think much of it, and it wasn’t simply because she thought Regina stark raving mad at the time. A soul mate, to her, is someone who knows you more intimately, it might seem, than you know yourself. A soul mate can be a friend, a lover or even a sister. Regardless of whatever other label one ascribes to it, a soul mate is someone who is there for you, maybe not always when you _want_ them to be, but especially when you _need_ them.

Knowing she isn’t the only one— knowing Regina had Morgan back then; all she can feel about it is relief. Maybe they don’t mean the same thing in this world, but like Morgan said; _she_ is Regina’s True Love and even if she doesn’t understand soul mates, Emma does understand _that_.

“I think I’ve fallen in love.”

“Well it was about damn time.” Regina huffs, though she raises a hand and rests it against her cheek, lips twitching as she says, “You Charmings are always so slow.”

Lashes fluttering, Emma leans into her palm and teases, “I meant with Morgan.”

“In that case, where is your sword?”

Emma grins as her chest warms, her eyes closed. She murmurs, “Are you going to kill her?”

Regina snorts. “No dear,” she drawls, “I’m going to kill _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized; for a chapter that's mostly about Morgan, there is an extreme lack of her in it. I'm not surprised, given who I am and the fact Swan Queen is everything, but I do find myself somewhat apologetic of the fact. 
> 
> Oh well. Next up; actual plot. Probably. Who knows?


	11. Chapter 11

"Hi." Regina smiles as she looks over to the door. She stands, placing her quill down and rounding her desk. Emma steps forward, meeting her halfway across the room, their arms finding a home around each other. Emma kisses her softly. "Morgan said you were looking for me."

Regina hums, not quite ready for the kiss to be over as she recaptures her lips. When Emma kisses her back, she moans, relief and pleasure intertwining until she's unsure where one feeling begins and the other ends. She's missed Emma's enthusiasm lately, unaware their kisses over the past few days have been lacking that extra something.

Breathing heavy as the kiss ends, she's almost panting when she says, "I thought you might like some more magic lessons."

Emma raises a brow, mild surprise in her voice. "You have time?"

Ignoring the small pang in her chest, Regina nods. She'd told Emma she would be busy for a while but that didn't stop her from feeling guilty. With the construction efforts, settling everyone from Storybrooke in, reinstating titles and lands, and (her least favourite part of being Queen) the many court functions this past week, they've barely seen each other let alone had time to spend together, least of all for magic lessons.

"I've missed you," she says, adoring the bright, bright smile Emma gives her as she returns it with one of her own. "How are the children?"

"Excited," Emma replies, her sigh fond. "I still can't believe you promised them all an allowance if they agreed to live at the orphanage."

Regina shrugs. She'd seen the look in some of their eyes when she informed them the large house just on the outskirts of the town was being built for them. A lot of the children were used to doing things for themselves but more than that, they were used to the freedom borne from a life without adults around telling them what to do.

During her reign she'd made certain the orphans within her lands were taken care of in the only way she knew how— in the only way they had _allowed_ her to. She had only learned of orphanages after the curse. Had Emma not put the idea in her head first, she was positive she would have thought of it sooner or later.

"With a roof over their heads and without a reason to steal, the tradesmen should be more open to taking a few of them on as apprentices. I've already spoken to the blacksmith and one of the tailors." Regina kisses her on the nose before extracting herself from the embrace. "Which reminds me, I think your mother might be considering the caregiver position."

"Yeah, she may have mentioned it." Emma's grimace not going unnoticed, Regina tilts her head, curious. Emma sighs and says, "Is she really the right person though? Don't get me wrong, I'm warming up to the idea of her being my mother but she is kind of…"

While she struggles for the right word, Regina smirks and suggests, "Self-centred? Ignorant? Negligent?" She could do this all day. "Overly dramatic?"

"Crazy," Emma deadpans and Regina chuckles.

Snow White is that, most definitely. Surprising no one more than herself, however, she says, "She deserves a chance, if nothing else. Selfish as she can be, I believe she would have made a wonderful—" Catching herself too little too late, she sighs. "I'm sorry, Emma."

She curses herself silently, Emma's smile strained and looking like she's on the verge of bursting into tears. Regina growls softly, hating herself for it as she wraps Emma back up in her arms and pulls her against her.

"I wasn't thinking," she murmurs apologetically. "It's becoming a terrible habit—your fault, no doubt."

Emma laughs half-heartedly, burying her face in Regina's neck. "It's okay," she mumbles after a moment. Regina hears the inhale beside her ear and smiles, pressing a hand to the back of Emma's neck in encouragement. "I missed you too, by the way."

"Now you tell me," Regina teases, grinning as a chuckle vibrates against her throat. "If I have to make you cry beforehand each time, I'm not sure I'll bother."

"I'm not crying," Emma argues in vain.

"Of course not," Regina soothes. Safe from Emma's petulant glare, she rolls her eyes and says, "The Captain of _my_ Guard crying, that would be unseemly."

She feels Emma's nod and twirls her wrist, a handkerchief in her hand that she passes behind her back to the hand fisted in her dress. When Emma accepts it without word, Regina feigns ignorance to the sniffles beside her ear and rubs Emma's back in a show of comfort.

She makes a mental note to find the bug later and convince him to try and talk to Emma. All those repressed emotions can't be good for Emma's health. The last thing she wants is to wake up one morning to find Emma dead from an aneurysm because of her terrible, and poorly termed 'coping mechanisms'. Emma doesn't _cope_ , she suppresses and denies, and then falls apart after a silly, thoughtless little comment, like that was any more normal than talking to a cricket turned cursed-therapist.

The last of the sniffles dying down, she takes Emma by the shoulders and steps back. Looking her over, she smiles faintly as Emma avoids her gaze. She doesn't see what the big deal is. Yes, Emma is a little redder than usual and her eyes make it appear as though she's fighting off some form of infection, but she's still beautiful— still the woman Regina fell in love with what seems like such a long time ago.

Since she can't exactly _say_ any of this if she doesn't want to embarrass the silly idiot, she pulls Emma back in and kisses her firmly on the mouth. "Now," she says, moving her mouth to a cheek and brushing her lips across warm, slightly salty skin. "Your magic, have you tried to do anything with it beyond conjuring that little ball of light you like to play with?"

She'd been so proud of Emma when she first learned that trick, but in the days following, Emma had become a little too attached to it. It serves no purpose beyond comforting Emma, which is fine, but also an extremely severe waste of potential.

"I uh…" Emma retreats a step before she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it up. Regina scowls, not bothering to look. She doesn't need the reminder of the moronic stunt Emma pulled the second week they arrived. "I think I can heal?"

Regina's gaze shoots down and a split-second later, her eyes widen. She raises her hand with little to no thought, delighted to feel nothing but the smooth, pale skin of Emma's right hip. There is no more hideous scar to remind her of the man she'd resisted strangling for putting it there, no more seeing Emma flinch, most likely while wondering if this next reminder would make Regina snap and beat her over the head for her stupidity.

"You healed it," she says, face contorting at the hint of awe she hears in her own voice. She clears her throat. "You really did this?"

Emma nods, nibbling on her lower lip as she watches her. Regina caresses her hip and pretends to be oblivious to the small smile twitching at the edges of her mouth because _screw_ it. She's allowed to be proud of her lover.

"I am impressed," she murmurs, conceding the thought as their eyes meet.

Emma laughs lightly— beautifully. "I can tell," she teases, the smile breaking across her face as Regina rolls her eyes again.

"Don't be a cocky little shit," she grumbles, swatting her hand so that it releases her shirt. She can't pretend to be moody when Emma is standing there baring that mouth-watering stomach to her, after all. "How did you do it?"

Emma shrugs. "The ball." Regina frowns and she explains, "I was sitting at my desk thinking about you while playing with it…"

When she pauses, her cheeks flushing, Regina raises a brow. "Are you telling me that instead of doing your work, you were too busy messing around with your magic and fantasizing about me?" As her lips part to respond, or argue (it’s a 50/50 split with Emma), Regina smirks and adds, "I'm flattered, but what has that got to do with you learning to heal?"

"Well," Emma drawls, turning an even deeper red. "I was thinking about how your eyes would get all dark and furious whenever you looked at my hip… and how you'd bite into it, trying to turn it into something else. About how warm your hand is when you couldn't and needed to cover it up—"

"And you decided to _heal_ it," Regina interrupts. Either she's missing something here, or Emma is going soft. "I thought you _liked_ my… _that_ in the bedroom."

Emma grins. "You thought I liked your dark side?" Regina huffs and the grin widens before Emma admits, "I do. I _love_ your dark side, especially in the bedroom but I also know it upset you. I mean, I didn't exactly heal it on purpose, but then I did and I… don't regret it. If it's a choice between my pleasure and your pain, you should know by now what I'm going to choose, Regina."

And if that isn't just—

Really, Emma Swan is a giant sap. She was already feeling guilty for the lack of time they'd spent together, and now this? What's next? Emma might as well just reach into her chest and rip her heart out while she's at it.

Hell, if the pounding against her breast is any indication, it's already trying to _throw_ itself at Emma anyway.

"Is this your way of trying to pay me back for making you cry?" Outrage washes away the grin better than she could have if she'd tried. Regina dismisses the expression with a chuckle. "Yes yes, you weren't crying. You don't have feelings beyond your love for our son, me, and anything cheese related. You're my big, bad Guard Captain, I know."

"Damn straight." Emma nods, then grabs her around the hips and yanks her close, the grin returning. "You forgot about my temper though."

"Ah yes," Regina murmurs, only slightly breathless. "The renowned anger that makes you temporarily adopt orphans and invite random people off the street to dinner."

Emma's laughing when she says, "You're an asshole."

"And of course," Regina adds, "that terrible anger that makes you insult the one woman in all the realms who might possibly love you more than your own mother."

Emma raises a brow and repeats, "Might possibly?"

"Mhmm."

"So it's not a guarantee then?" Regina shakes her head. "Not even a _little_ bit?"

She smirks and says, "Not even a smidgen."

"Well now, we're going to have to fix that. I mean _you_ , coming in second to my mother?" Regina gapes. The _nerve_. Emma hums knowingly, amusement in her eyes. "You wanna change your mind?"

"Maybe."

"It _is_ a woman's prerogative," Emma states, her expression serious as she throws the one excuse Regina likes to use rather than admit to the fact she's the most indecisive of the two of them.

Feigning offense, she gasps and lightly slaps Emma's cheek, drawing another laugh, though this one is much deeper— much more telling. Almost as telling as the dark emerald gaze Emma levels her with.

"Now now, my Queen," she says, her voice low with husked warning. "Unless you're wanting a magic lesson of another kind entirely, no hitting."

Regina starts to grin as Emma's meaning dawns on her. "And if I do," she purrs, "Should I slap you some more?"

Emma smirks, hands gripping her hips more firmly as she leans in and breathes against her mouth, "I wouldn't advise against it."

Licking her lips, Regina mirrors the smirk, fingers tapping Emma's cheek as she considers the offer. Magic or sex? It's an obvious choice, but do they have time?

"You're not helping with the orphanage today?"

Emma shakes her head. "David is handling it."

With court not being for another few hours, and having set aside said hours for Emma's magic lessons, Regina hums, her mind made up. "Very well," she says, smirk growing as she pulls her hand back, the slap combined with Emma's laughter echoing through the room as her magic whisks them off to their bedchamber.

 

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"Perhaps it isn't as useless as I thought."

Emma nods, beyond pleased with herself as she wiggles her fingers and the ball returns to her hand. "Gives new meaning to the phrase sexual healing," she laughs, batting away the pillow Regina tosses at her head. "I can see you laughing."

"You're asinine." Regina swipes the ball from her, grinning, and Emma leans back against the headboard, content to watch the pure bliss that overcomes her face as the magic settles in the palm of her hand. "Is it always like this?"

She shakes her head. "I think it depends on how I'm feeling." Right now, she's sated— warm, her skin buzzing pleasantly. "You've never been curious enough to play with your magic before?"

A bare shoulder rises lazily. "Magic to me has always been about the power— the freedom that comes from people being afraid of you," Regina explains. "There's security in fear. How would I have looked if people caught me playing with it? Rumple taught me what I needed to know. I saw no reason to experiment."

Sitting up, Emma turns to face her. She crosses her legs and snaps her fingers, dismissing the ball. "Try it."

Frowning down at her hand, Regina sighs. "Oh what the hell," she says and flicks her wrist.

Emma smiles. Unlike her little ball of wild, white magic, Regina's is a perfect, smoky sphere of different purple hues, from lavender to plum and everything in between. "Fancy," she teases. "How's it feel?"

Her frown deepening, Regina replies, "It doesn't."

"Let me?" Emma gestures to it, her hand out. Regina drops it in her palm, brow rising when her breath hitches. "That is…"

"You feel something?"

Emma nods, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She doesn't know why Regina can't feel it. Maybe it's because she's used to the seductive power, or maybe she simply hadn't been paying attention to it. "You sure you didn't?"

Again, Regina shrugs. "It feels like my magic," she says, eying her warily.

A thrill runs through Emma and she shivers. If this is what Regina's magic feels like naturally, then it's no wonder she gets turned on every time Regina uses it on her, or near her.

"Try and feel something different from what you're feeling now," she suggests.

The second the words leave her mouth, an intense heat shoots through her and she gasps.

"Emma?"

"Mmm," she hums.

"Are you alright?"

She laughs, the sound little more than a choked rasp. "Oh yes," she breathes. "You wouldn't happen to be thinking about me naked, would you?"

Regina responds dryly. "You _are_ naked, what else would I be thinking about?"

Moaning at the familiar sensation of a certain tongue caressing between her thighs, she lets out a soft breath and asks, "Could you maybe try?" As much as she loves that feeling, it isn't all that different from what she generally feels around Regina.

"Fine."

Minutes pass before the sensation begins to change. The heat dims to a simmering warmth that settles low in her belly before spreading outward, bringing a soft smile to her lips.

She glances down to find equally warm, brown eyes gazing up at her from where Regina rests her head against a pillow. This, she realizes, is what Regina loving her is supposed to feel like. She can see it in those eyes and in the faint quirk of lips.

"Better?" Regina husks, eyes slowly skirting down from her jaw, along her collarbone to her chest.

Emma reaches for her hand. "You tell me," she says as she passes the sphere back to her.

Successfully distracted from becoming aroused again, Regina's gaze snaps to her hand. Emma uncrosses her legs and stretches out, laying on her side, grinning all the while as she watches the expression of abject awe overcome her lover's expression.

"What did you do?" Regina whispers, touching the sphere with the fingers of her other hand.

"It's not me," Emma admits. She wishes it was because _damn_. Her love for Regina is all encompassing, but it's never felt like that. "That's all you, gorgeous."

Swallowing, Regina shakes her head and as her eyes flick back to the sphere, she murmurs, "I love you far too much."

Emma lets out a sharp bark of laughter and agrees, "You're telling me." The sheer strength of it continues to linger in her bones, leaving her seemingly permanently warm, content— safe.

It is even more of a comfort to her than her own magic has been and if that is True Love, then Morgan was right; she'd been too kind to herself with simple beratings.

There is no way in hell a soul mate compares to _that_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed with canon events again. Don't worry, it's on purpose.

"… we are simply not prepared to cater to this many people. If we must continue to feed them using our own stores, then we demand recompense."

Chin in hand, Regina glares at the man stood in front of her. If she weren't seeing it for herself, she'd never have believed a person could possess so little intelligence while somehow still possessing enough to remember to breathe.

"Mister Fallon, was it?" He inclines his head and she smiles sweetly down at him as she drawls, "Tell me, Mister Fallon, to whom does the land belong on which your crops are allowed to grow?"

"Your Majesty—"

"Indeed," she interrupts him. Straightening, she drapes her arms across the arms of her throne and stares him down, projecting calm when what she'd really like to do is reach out with her magic and hang him from the large chandelier above their heads. "And how am I compensated for these lands on which I so graciously allow you to earn a living, Mister Fallon?"

"Y-you are not," he stutters as he wrings his hands. "But—"

"I am not," she repeats, interrupting him once again. "For almost thirty years, you along with every other peasant fortunate enough to claim yourselves subjects of _my_ domain have reaped the benefits of my generosity, and yet here you stand, demanding recompense when I ask a favour of you?"

Finally taking the hint, he keeps his mouth shut and bows his head, his gaze fixed to the floor. Regina sinks back against her throne, the tension in her muscles releasing with the display of subservience. "Mister Fallon, I find myself wondering if my lands wouldn't better serve me in the hands of another— someone less selfish and greedy than yourself, perhaps a neighbor…"

His head snaps up but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue as her upper lip curls in warning. "How stupid do you think I am, farmer; that I would fall for such blatant trickery? Not prepared—" She scoffs, rising from her throne. From her dais, she towers over him and she can see the fear in his eyes long before she reaches full height. "You have been preparing for my return since you were a babe suckling at your mother's teat!"

Descending a step, she lowers her voice and growls, "Now get out of my sight before I roast you where you stand, you pathetic little weasel."

Too busy gaping up at her like a fish out of water, a woman emerges from the crowd and with a hand on his shoulder, she leads the man from the throne room. Regina follows their retreat with dark eyes, expression blanking only when the doors close behind them, her anger dissipating with their exit.

"Anyone else?" She questions, leveling the rest of the crowd with an indifferent stare. When no one comes forth, she says, "Good. Court dismissed."

As they all turn to leave, she sighs and drops back to her throne as Morgan sidles up beside her. "That went well."

"Shut up," she murmurs, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. Each court session is a variation of the same; boring, with little differences. This was the first in which someone tried to play her, but even then it was still as tedious as every other. "I should make this your new job."

"There's no need for that," Morgan replies, rounding her throne to stand before her. She smirks as Regina raises her head, and says, "If you want me to kill myself, just ask."

Regina frowns. "Don't even joke about that," she chides, though her words are without the bite she intends. She groans. "There has to be a better way to do this."

When she was the Evil Queen, she'd avoided holding court for the most part. Back then, once a month was often enough to prevent the peasants from rioting, but she doubts that will sit well with them this time round. She's starting to understand just how much she got away with when everyone thought she was unstable.

To think she'd been in a good mood an hour ago. One greedy little peasant later, and all Emma's hard work went down the drain.

"The arbiter idea isn't a terrible one," Morgan comments casually as she takes a seat at Regina's feet. "Just as long as it isn't me. Find someone you trust and—"

Regina snorts. "If not you, then who? The only other person I trust nearly enough to speak for me is Emma, and she's even more likely to murder the first person who annoys her than I am."

As much as they joke about Emma's temper in private, it is real. It's rare and would take a lot more than someone trying to trick Emma to get her to snap, but it does exist. She'd seen it the day Baelfire came to Storybrooke and tried to take Henry away from her. Emma had beaten him bloody and if not for Rumplestiltskin begging Emma to spare his son's life, she probably would have killed him.

With access to magic, even light magic, her enraged True Love would be a force to be reckoned with.

"So…" Her thoughts must show on her face because when she looks at Morgan, Morgan grins and says, "I guess Emma's out."

Regina nods slowly. "You may be alike in many ways, but your patience and willingness to suffer fools is not a trait my Emma shares," she explains before gesturing dismissively. "Enough of this. Where did you go this afternoon?"

Morgan shrugs. "I was around. I assumed you wanted to be alone with Emma."

"I did," she admits, eyes narrowing.

"So what's the problem?"

A brow rises. "Besides the fact you didn't answer my question, you mean?"

Blue eyes roll as Morgan gets to her feet. "It's private."

Regina joins her, rising from her throne with all the grace of the Queen she is. She smirks. "Keeping secrets from me," she purrs, "my, you _have_ grown bold."

"As bold as I am immune to that voice."

Following her from the throne room, Regina chuckles as she says, "Another trait you and Emma, thankfully, do not share."

"Ah," Morgan sighs, mock wistfully, "to be so young again."

"Speaking of—"

"Also private," she interjects before Regina can ask about her age. "And not nearly as important as you meeting your family for dinner," she adds, abruptly turning down a corridor that leads away from the dining hall. "Say hi to Emma for me!"

Regina huffs, coming to a stop as she watches her former Captain retreat and tries to convince herself not to follow.

In the end, it doesn't take much. Between going after Morgan to demand answers and seeing Emma and Henry again, it is one of the easiest decisions she's ever made, and as she reasons with herself that she can simply track down Morgan later, she continues down the corridor to where her True Loves are waiting.

 

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Staring up at the sky after having the wind knocked out of her, Emma has to admit that her timing could have been better. When a man twice your size is coming at you with a big ass broadsword, it's probably not a good idea to become lost in your own thoughts.

Said man peers down at her as she tries to regain her breath, his grin almost as wide as his face. Unfortunately for him, she sees the swirl of lavender smoke before he does and in the next instant, he's dropping to the ground with a pained grunt as Regina materializes above them.

"Captain."

"My Queen," she replies, ignoring the steel in Regina's voice as she rises to her elbows and glances at her second in command. "Ralph, please be smart and crawl away before she remembers which of us she's actually angry with."

He doesn't need to be told twice and she almost laughs out loud when he scurries away from Regina on his hands and knees. The guards, she'd been pleased to learn, are slightly _less_ stupid than the average person when it comes to their Queen.

Despite Regina's belief to the contrary, Jonas' retelling of their confrontation had instilled a healthy does of fear in the guards and the story now spreading about the farmer who'd upset the Queen the day before has only made them all the more obedient.

Taking the hand extended to her, she clambers to her feet with a grin and before Regina can yell at her, she gathers the older woman in her arms and plants a big, wet kiss on her mouth.

Regina wrinkles her nose, her expression one of feigned disgust as she says, "Release me, you filthy barbarian."

Not fooled in the slightest, Emma merely tightens her hold as she raises a brow and Regina slumps, practically melting into her. "You're all sweaty," she murmurs, burying her face in Emma's neck.

Lips pressed to her temple, Emma smiles. "Isn't that why you're here," she retorts, the words knowing. "You watched me in your mirror, waiting until I was all hot and sweaty so you could come here and demand my presence in our bedchamber?"

Regina snorts. "Try bathing chamber," she replies, then nips at her pulse point before she lifts her head. "And I came here because that brute knocked you on your ass and I wanted to behead him, which might I remind you, you interfered with."

"My ass, my decision," Emma counters before she squeaks, rough hands grabbing her ass and squeezing.

" _My_ ass," Regina corrects, growling softly, "your decision."

"Well." Emma clears her throat, not even needing to consider it as she concedes, "As long as we're agreed on the last bit."

Regina chuckles, winding a hand in her hair. She tugs Emma forward and into a kiss that lasts well beyond appropriate for public. Filthy barbarian that she apparently is, it's surprising how much dirtier Regina can make her feel simply by using her mouth.

"O-kay." She's panting by the time Regina releases her and it takes a moment before thought slowly trickles back into her mind. Emma licks her lips, a hint of spiced wine on her tongue. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

Humming, Regina caresses her mouth with lips, then tongue. Emma moans softly, parting her lips in invitation, and moaning again when Regina accepts, tongue sweeping into her mouth. They kiss for what feels like hours but is likely no more than a minute or two as Emma cedes what little control Regina might have allowed her, caught up in the sensation of lips, tongue and teeth doing wonderful things to her mind, body and soul.

It ends abruptly and when her lids flutter open, the exasperated question of _why_ on the verge of exploding from her mouth, Regina quirks a brow and questions, "Do I need a reason to kiss the woman I love?"

Breathing in deeply to calm her desire to grab Regina and hold her down while she has her way with her, Emma exhales slowly.

Feeling a semblance of her control return, she states a little breathlessly, "Not to be contrary or anything, but that wasn't a kiss, Regina— that was full on sex with my mouth, followed by an encore."

Another chuckle, this one throatier than the last, fills the air and Emma shivers, reading the unspoken words in those eyes as Regina's look of hunger transforms into one of mischief.

She groans, loudly, and _is_ complaining when she says, "I'm rubbing off on you."

The image of what truly constitutes Regina having sex with her mouth is not one she'll be able to forget any time soon, and though she wouldn't ordinarily mind thinking such things throughout the day, she _does_ have to meet her mother when she's done here.

"You couldn't have waited a couple of hours before doing this to me," she whines, loathing the smirk Regina flashes her as much she loves it.

"In a couple of hours," Regina purrs, leaning in until they're only a breath apart. "You won't be half as sweaty and delightful as you are now, my tasty Swan."

The scent of wine on her breath causes Emma to blink and she pulls her head back, frowning as she remembers having tasted the wine before she'd smelled it. While not generally subtle about how much she appreciates the aftermath of her training sessions, Regina is usually more reserved in public unless—

"Are you drunk?"

"Why?" Eyes flashing comically wide in exaggerated surprise, Regina mocks, "Are you going to be a buzzkill like your mother?"

"It's the middle of the afternoon!"

"Sorry _Snow_ ," she sasses as she tries to disentangle herself from Emma's embrace. "Sorry we can't all entertain ourselves with the stick up our ass."

Emma bites back a laugh, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back. She didn't mean to sound like she was judging. Considering the days Regina sometimes has, she can understand mid-afternoon drinking. Having dealt with her fair share of peasants since they arrived, she's been tempted to drink occasionally during the day too. The only thing that stops her is the fact she'd probably end up doing something monumentally stupid; her whims while sober get her in enough trouble as is.

"You were bored?" Regina pouts and it is just so _fucking adorable_ that Emma has to kiss her again. She chuckles against her mouth as Regina kisses her back without the slightest hesitation. "I'm not judging," she murmurs, tilting her head as Regina's mouth moves to her jaw. "I just need to know if I should be concerned—"

Regina pauses, head jerking up. She questions with a frown, "Why would you be?"

"Getting drunk in the middle of the day is kind of a red flag where I'm from," Emma explains. She raises her hand and cups Regina's cheek, asking softly, "Do I need to worry?"

Head shaking, Regina leans in for another, albeit shorter, more loving kiss. "I'm not drunk, dear." Emma squints, not quite believing her and Regina smiles, laughing lightly as she admits, "I _may_ have gotten a little carried away while I was watching you train, but I am merely tipsy. You have nothing to worry about."

Emma bites down on her lip to stifle another laugh. The idea of Regina getting so turned on watching her that she'd resorted to drinking is, quite frankly, _hilarious_.

"So, not drunk," she says. At Regina's nod, she feels her face crack with the beginnings of a grin and she teases, "Just horny?"

Face blank, a brow rises at the same pace her grin starts to widen and as the ache forms in her cheeks, Regina drawls, "Have you _seen_ you train?"

 

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Side by side, Regina and Emma walk along the path leading to the orphanage. Snow doesn't notice their approach right away but when she turns and sees the two of them, her face lights up and Regina grimaces at the shrill sound of her voice.

"Regina! I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"Yes well…"  She's tempted to make a comment about the things we do for the ones we love but considering the smile Snow wears, she knows such a witless declaration for the woman's daughter will only make matters more nauseating for herself. Instead she says, "Join the club."

Emma nudges her with an elbow and receives a wordless grunt in reply. Emma will be lucky if she speaks to her ever again after this stunt. All she'd wanted was a little romp in the hay, but no, Emma had to go and ruin her plan with plans of her own, claiming that she would make it up to her tonight with whispered promises of such wonderful debauchery _if_ Regina joined her rather than return to her study to finish the nice bottle of wine she'd left sitting on the table.

Leaving Emma to converse with her mother, Regina ascends the stairs into the near fully constructed orphanage. She hasn't visited since the day she'd caught Emma up on the roof and she's impressed with the progress that's been made since then.

Wandering through each room, she hums her appreciation for the level of detail that's clearly gone into the work. She recognizes a few of the designs that crop up in the woodwork from time to time, having come across Emma's hastily scrawled drawings once or twice when she'd stumbled into their room late at night and found Emma asleep by the fire.

Seeing them reminds her of those nights and she's smiling as she enters the last room, though her reason soon changes when she spots the two women in the corner.

"Well," she says, stifling her amusement when the women jump apart but only until a familiar set of horrified blue eyes settle on her. Then, she laughs. "Now I see what you meant by private."

"Regina!"

Head cocked to the side, she grins. "Hello Tinkerbelle."

Morgan lurches forward, blocking her sight of the half-naked fairy. "I can explain—"

"Oh?" From where she's standing, it's fairly obvious what was going on before she interrupted. She drawls, "Let me guess, she spilled something on her dress and was in the midst of changing when you tripped and fell on to her mouth?"

Before Morgan can respond, she hears footsteps on the stairs and Emma calling her. She continues to grin as she calls back over her shoulder. "Up here, dear."

"Regina," Morgan hisses.

Amused, she raises a finger. "One moment."

Emma appears at the top of the stairs, followed closely by Snow. "What—" Snow peeks her head around the door into the room to see what has Regina so amused. Her brows disappear into her hairline and Regina laughs as she jerks back. "Oh. I do not need to see this."

"Yeah, me neither," Emma mutters from beside Regina. She goes to turn, to follow her mother back downstairs, but then she does a double-take. "Wait, I thought you were with Amanda?"

"We are."

"We," she repeats. Tinkerbelle nods and Emma's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh. Okay then."

Confused, Regina frowns as she questions, "Who is Amanda?" She looks at Emma accusingly. "I see Morgan isn't the only one keeping secrets."

Emma blinks, gaze darting between the three of them before she says, "No. No way." She gestures between Morgan and Tinkerbelle and tells Regina, "I didn't know about this, and I caught her holding hands with Amanda in the market a week ago. If it was meant to be secret, then she sucks at secret and none of this is my fault."

Mouth opening to argue, the words die on her lips as Emma shakes her head. "Nope," she says, turning. "Not my problem." Halfway down the stairs, she yells, "And Amanda is Jade's mother, you forgetful old woman!"

Regina reminds herself to kill Emma for that later, still grinning as she returns her attention to Morgan. "You're sleeping with that sweet girl's mother _and_ Tink? You have been a busy little Queen Regent, haven't you?"

Shoulders slumping, Morgan's forehead creases with her frown as she questions, "You're not mad?"

"Mad," Regina repeats, amusement lacing her voice. "Of course not." She doesn't ask why. She doesn't need to; the Evil Queen was possessive but she isn't that woman anymore, and Morgan is no longer hers— nor is she Morgan's. "I don't know how you have the energy, but as long as you're not hurting anyone and you're all happy, then so am I."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taking me a bit longer to write. I can't stop sleeping for some reason. I think I might be sick.

"God fucking damn it."

Hearing the curse, Regina cocks her head to the side a fraction of a second before the ball of light whizzes passed, missing her by a hair's breadth. She sniffs, paying her idiot lover no mind as she turns a page in her book. If Emma wants to insist on treating her magic as though it is a puppy capable of learning new tricks, then who is she to interfere?

When a crash sounds from across the room, she barely flinches. She'd assumed Emma had destroyed everything already. "What was that?" she asks, not particularly caring in the slightest. The only thing she cares about at this point is if Emma is hurt. If not, then—

"I can fix it!"

"Mhmm," she hums trustingly, continuing to read as best she can under current circumstances. If Emma has proven anything in the last hour, then it's not her ability to command or teach semi-sentient matter, but that she would have made a valuable magical repairman, or woman, in another life— or even in this life if that was ever her want.

On the bright side, Regina is aware that her concern for Emma's wellbeing isn't strictly all that necessary. Emma might accidentally conjure herself a third leg (like when she somehow broke the table earlier and gave it a fifth) when she healed herself, but the important thing was that Emma _could_ heal herself, purposely if need be, and Regina would be proud of her regardless of any extra limbs.

As grumbled curses fill the room, she smiles and lowers her book. "My love."

"What?"

Emma said it herself— her magic does what it does, and feels how it feels, because of how Emma herself feels, because of Emma _herself_. It is a part of her, but more than that, it _is_ her. "You're frustrated," she says, fixing her with a look that screams; how have you not figured this out yet?

"No shit, it won't do anything I—"

" _It_ is _you_ , dear," she explains, shaking her head as she interrupts. "Since when do you ever do anything you're told?"

Emma throws up her hands. "Then how the hell am I meant to control it?"

"How does anyone control you?"

"They don't," she growls and Regina grins wryly.

"Let me rephrase," she purrs, leaning forward. She waits until the inevitable occurs and Emma's gaze finds its way to her chest, then questions, "How do _I_ control you?"

Eyes lifting, Emma tilts her head, considering before a grin of her own begins to form. "Your voice, your body, that thing you do with your—"

"Not," she interrupts again with a throated laugh, "what I meant."

The words were certainly amusing but it is the fact Emma is so easily, _easily_ distracted that entertains her most. Anyone else and it would irritate her but with Emma— with Emma it is both flattering and more than endearing to be the cause of such distraction. Emma's love, but more importantly, Emma's lust for her is a magnificent thing, and something she uses to her advantage _often_.

"Coercion and manipulation, dearest."

Emma's head starts to bob before she's even done. "That too."

Pointless as it would be, that Emma doesn't even try to deny it causes Regina to laugh even harder, and _that_ has Emma's impish little grin transforming into the dorky lopsided one she shares with her father. The same one that warms Regina from the inside out (when it's Emma, at least) and is the reason for her fond sigh.

"You need to remain calm," she explains patiently. "To envision what you want and then _suggest_ it." Put an idea into Emma's head and in a few days time, she'd come to you with something even better. Her brilliance in that regard may only be limited to the bedroom (she has yet to test this theory, admittedly) but that is where it benefits Regina most anyway. "Force will only anger it, and by extension; you. Unruly as you are, you cannot expect less from your magic."

As she finishes, she catches the flicker of light from the corner of her eye and turns her head, smiling at the ball hovering only a couple of inches from her face. She touches it gently and that ever growing warmth becomes a surge of affection and love.

"Are you being sappy again?"

"Little bit," Emma admits. She crosses the room in a few short strides and drops down beside her. "Maybe when I need it, you can just coerce it out of me."

"Or you could try some of that patience you demand whenever someone has to deal with you."

Emma feigns wounded, a hand against her chest. "Never have crueler words been spoken."

Regina smirks. "Well that's just simply not true." She'd been much crueler when they were at each other's throats. Granted, it was so she could rile Emma up and have her clothes torn off to be thoroughly ravished, but still— true is true.

As if knowing where her thoughts have led her and following her down that well-trodden path, Emma sighs wistfully. "Yeah," she replies and rests her head on a shoulder. "Can we just… not do anything today?"

"I have to attend court lest the peasants revolt." Otherwise, she's not opposed. Court isn't for hours yet and her other responsibilities can wait. They aren't going to disappear merely because she avoids them for a day. "Don't you have your training this afternoon?"

"Yes." Emma huffs irritably, then says, "I'm not in the mood."

"Hmm." Regina kisses the top of her head before flicking a wrist. A compact mirror appears in her hand and with another flick, an image of Snow coalesces within the glass. Regina chuckles when she squeaks. "And they accused _me_ of being vain."

"Regina!"

Smirking, she gestures dismissively. "I was looking for David," she reasons, "I can only assume he's somewhere there with you. Be a dear and fetch him, then I'll leave you to your… preening."

Sounding oddly like her daughter, Snow huffs. She throws her head back, calling for her husband who stumbles into view not a minute later.

"What? What happened?" Snow steps aside, revealing Regina to him. "Oh. Good Morning, Regina."

"Charming," she drawls, eyes roaming his shirtless torso. She grins. "I see your daughter inherited more than just your pretty face."

His cheeks turn bright red in the same moment she feels the sting of Emma's hand against her thigh. Her grin widens and she turns her head as Emma's lifts from her shoulder. She kisses her cheek.

David clears his throat. "How can I help you, Regina?"

Momentarily distracted by Emma returning her kiss, lips soft against her cheek, she hums, pleased. "I am abducting your daughter for the day," she says. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind informing Rædwulf—" Or as Emma likes to call him; _Ralph. "—_ when you see him."

He nods, agreeing, before he gets a look of worry. "I can do that. Is everything alright?"

She inclines her head, mildly touched by his concern. "Everything is fine," she assures him, then lies, "I merely desire a break from the peasants until this evening and I…" She flutters her lashes innocently when she says, "—require your daughter's company."

Better he think the problem is her libido than Emma's mood. At least if he thinks they're spending the day having sex, they won't have to deal with him and his wife hounding them in an attempt to cheer Emma up.

When he screws up his face, she flashes him another grin and raises a hand, wiggling her fingers in farewell.

"One day, you're going to give him a heart attack," Emma says as her father fades from the mirror. "I still can't believe how prudish they are."

"You can hardly blame them," Regina drawls as she rises from her seat and extends a hand. Emma grabs onto it and Regina tugs her to her feet. "The only person either of your parents have ever fucked is each other. I bet it's nice and proper, your father rutt—"

A hand covers her mouth. "I doubt I enjoy the thought of my parents having sex any more than you enjoy the thought of yours."

Stomach rolling unpleasantly, Regina shudders. She clasps Emma's wrist and pulls the hand from her mouth, warning, "I may throw up on your for that."

"Well…" Emma wrinkles her nose and drawls, "— I suppose that's one way to get me naked."

 

.

.

.

 

This is ridiculous.

Had she known the lengths Regina would go to, to substantiate the lie she'd told to her father, Emma would have chosen to tell him the truth and suffered the consequences gladly. Not only are they sitting in a tavern that smells like stale urine and week old sweat in the middle of the afternoon, but Regina decided before they'd left the palace that they needed disguises, and now she's dressed as some wannabe Robin Hood who, given the way Regina chose to disguise herself, apparently has a thing for high class courtesans.

"Too much?"

Eyeing the cleavage recently shoved in her face (She's not complaining. She's not stupid. Why would she?) when Regina dropped into her lap, Emma raises a brow. "That depends, were you looking for a chair or a motorboat?"

With a salacious grin, Regina counters, "Why not both?"

Emma rolls her eyes. She's not a dirty old man or a 19 year old frat boy, for one. For two, Regina isn't the buxom-paid-by-the-hour wench others have already mistaken her for in the twenty minutes since they arrived.

And, okay, maybe she's complaining a _little_ , but who can blame her? Regina might not look like Regina, but those are definitely her breasts and Emma has definitely caught other people staring at them. She wants to rip each and every one of their throats out… with her teeth.

"You do these things to irritate me, don't you?"

"Of course," Regina admits, unrepentant. She bows her head and licks a long line across Emma's jaw, then tugs on the lobe of her ear. "Jealousy is such a flattering look on you, my darling."

Emma grunts, flexing her hand beneath the table. "Keep it up and you're going to have less subjects to kiss your ass," she mutters, glowering darkly at one of the men seated across from them who hasn't been able to take his eyes off Regina since they walked in.

She's entertaining the thought of breaking her fist with his face when a vaguely familiar laugh from somewhere draws her attention away from him and across the room. She stares upon finding its owner. "Is that Ruby?"

Regina frowns but she glances over her shoulder. "Indeed," she says, a hint of disgust in her voice when she quickly turns back.

"Huh." Considering how often Ruby flirted with her whenever she was in the diner back in Storybrooke, she'd always thought the waitress was gay. Seeing her 'dancing' with some guy grinding up against her, and _liking_ it, was a little too enlightening for Emma. "I thought she was into women."

"A rather fortunate misassumption, I would say." At her questioning look, Regina smirks. "Miss Lucas takes the phrase 'eating out' far too literally."

Emma tries to stop herself from laughing but all that means is she ends up snorting like a demented pig. She knows it's wrong because she'd heard the story, but it's also typical Regina, and she _adores_ typical Regina.

"You're a terrible person," she says, biting her lip.

Grinning, Regina agrees, "I'm going to Hell," she says and Emma nods. "It is a great comfort knowing you'll be right there beside me."

Emma nods again. She'd be there even if she wasn't a terrible person, simply because Regina would be there. She isn't going to say that, of course. Even for her that's a fairly nauseating amount of sappy and, knowing Regina, she most likely _would_ throw up on her just to protest the fact Emma had the audacity to even _think_ it.

Rule number one when it comes to Regina Mills; Emma does not _tell_ her what she thinks.

Life is much simpler, and requires a lot less bathing that way.

Lifting her chin in askance, she waits. Regina sighs knowingly but then their lips are brushing and Regina is making one of those little pleased sounds in the back of her throat as Emma slips her the tongue.

What starts out as a slow, soft declaration of love quickly becomes something else when Regina begins to wriggle in her lap. The way Regina touches her neck, one hand curled against the nape, stroking, while the other lovingly caresses her throat is enough for Emma to know she's aroused, and the wriggling only confirms it.

She's about to suggest they return to the palace, away from this horrid smelling place and its lecherous patrons, when they're interrupted.

"Hello ladies."

Reluctantly pulling away from Regina's mouth, she sneers as soon she realizes it's the man from earlier. "Do you mind?"

"I do, actually," he replies. "I rather think you've enjoyed the pleasure of this lovely lady's company long enough."

Brow disappearing into her hairline, Emma waits until her silence forces him to look at her rather than Regina's chest. When he does, his stare one of annoyance, she slowly lowers her gaze to her lap where Regina remains before she meets his eyes again and says, "You're the only one."

He smirks. "Perhaps the lady was unaware she has other options."

Regina quietly vibrates with budding anger but Emma keeps her at bay with a hand on her thigh. "Perhaps," she drawls, "the lady isn't blind and has seen you leering at her like a creep since we arrived." As his face contorts and he opens his mouth to argue, she continues as though she hasn't noticed, " _Perhaps_ the lady simply found you lacking."

A sound not unlike the pleased one from before sticks in Regina's throat but then, when the man rounds the table and grabs her by the arm, it becomes a low, rumbled growl as she glares at the offending limb. "Remove your hand before I remove it for you."

Oblivious, he flashes Emma an arrogant grin. "The only one here lacking is you, little girl. What this whore needs is a good hard c—"

Voice failing him before the word is out of his mouth, his high-pitched whine of strangled pain is overshadowed by the sharp crack of bone. Emma winces at both and her stomach rolls as he snatches his hand back, noting all four of his fingers are at an angle that no finger should ever bend.

As he stumbles back from the table, gaping at his newly deformed hand, Regina rises and slowly turns to him, their disguises dissipating to reveal the Queen and her Captain. What patrons had stopped to ogle the spectacle they were creating swiftly turn their attention elsewhere as his face turns even more pallid.

"Perhaps," Regina purrs, "you should learn to listen to a woman when she speaks, to accept when she clearly has no interest you, and to walk away rather than force your unwanted and unpleasant attention on her."

Regina's voice deepens with her every word and Emma swallows thickly, uncertainly. She agrees with Regina but while anger may be their kryptonite when it comes to each other, when it comes to another, she suddenly understands their fear.

She will never see the Evil Queen but _this_ is not a Regina she knows, and she is enthralled all the same.

Seeing the shift of hips that tells her Regina is about to advance on the man while he struggles not to pass out from the pain, she touches three fingers to a wrist. Regina stills, peering down at her with a frown. The longer their stare holds, the more uncertain she appears and that is the last thing Emma wants.

She stands, nudging her chair back as she draws her fingers down into a palm and into the spaces between Regina's fingers, entwining them. "I'm not going to ask, or demand, or plead with you to spare him." He would deserve everything Regina did to him, and more, just for that whore comment alone. "But I would remind you before he intruded that we were in the middle of something I would very much like to get back to."

Something far more pleasant and more worthy of Regina's time, she'd wager, though she doesn't say that. The choice is Regina's, and she will accept it.

Guiding their hands to her mouth, she presses a kiss to Regina's knuckles, smiling softly as she says, "I'll be waiting in our bedchamber, my love." Whether a minute, an hour, or three; she'll wait. "Come find me when you're done."

 

.

.

.

 

_I'm sorry._

The apology tumbles around in Regina's mind as she enters their chamber. She had watched Emma leave with zero thought to follow her. She'd done little more for the next twenty minutes than berate the man for his treatment of women in front of her subjects. She made it clear to him and anyone else listening that if she heard of similar instances in the future, they would be punished severely and without mercy, and then Emma's words finally registered.

The guilt struck her immediately. Emma's invitation had been right there for the taking, and what did she choose to do instead? She has tolerated much in her long, long life. Men like him are a dime a dozen, they are no stranger to her, to the Queen she once was. She is as used to them as one could be.

It would appear that her time in Emma's world has shortened her tolerance. She has no idea if that's a good thing or not, but given her delay in reaching her love, she is more inclined to believe not.

"I—" As if sensing her thoughts, Emma turns from the balcony the moment she speaks, shushing her instantly.

"I have no expectations of you," she says, moving through their room and gathering her in her arms. "You know that."

Her guilt surges because _yes_ , she does. They've spoken of who she was more times than she can count. Weeks; that was what it took for Emma to accept her after she'd told her of the curse, to believe her. Emma had never claimed to forgive what she'd done, but Emma did tell her that she at least understood _why_ Regina thought she needed to do it.

"I know," she admits, sinking into the embrace with a sigh, only slightly less disappointed in herself than when she'd walked from the tavern.

She could have magicked herself back to the Palace, back to Emma but she'd needed the time to think. Thus far, she had tempered her anger in front of Emma, worried of what she might think— worried that it would affect them, affect Henry. She could imagine nothing worse than him turning against her again, for Emma to side with him rather than help her explain to him what she'd done— who she was once. That she wasn't the Queen any longer.  

"Get out of your head," Emma murmurs, lips pressed to her temple. "I'm okay. We're okay. Whatever you did to him, we'll—"

"Nothing," Regina interjects, explaining quickly. "I yelled at him for a bit and then he was dragged off to the healer. I didn't… I didn't hurt him any more." She had wanted to. _Gods_ had she wanted to, but Emma. Emma was— _is_ more important.

"Okay," Emma replies, accepting. Assuring, "I wouldn't have blamed you if you did, but okay."

"What?" She jerks back, surprised as she asks, "You wouldn't have… blamed me? You left thinking I was going to hurt him?"

Sheepish, Emma rubs the back of her neck as Regina takes a step back. "I uh… you're the Queen?"

Regina frowns at her reasoning. That was it? She's the Queen so, what? Emma is fine with her hurting people? Torturing them? Killing them?

"Emma," she says, exasperated. "What on—"

"The rules are different here, right?"

The question is said in a rush of breath, almost pleading in tone, and only serves to confuse her. Regina hesitates but she answers reluctantly, "Yes?" Emma stares at helplessly and she shakes her head, the realization slow but dawning. "Different, but not nonexistent, Emma."

"But they're _your_ rules," Emma protests, her own brow furrowing with her frown. "I don't— I want…"

"What?" Regina erases the step, recognizing her distress. She cups her cheek, offering comfort as Emma searches for the right words. "What do you want, my love?"

"To support you," Emma mutters, the words barely audible beneath her breath. Speechless, Regina wonders if she heard her right. She realizes she did when at her silence, Emma sighs and with more confidence states, "I want to support you, Regina. You're the Queen, I'm your Captain. I may not have sworn the oath yet, but—"

"Oath?" Confused as she is, Regina chuckles and says, "Emma, you won't be swearing any oath."

Not to her, not to anyone. She doesn't need an oath to know Emma is loyal to her. First Henry, now Emma; whoever keeps putting these ridiculous notions into their heads is starting to get on her nerves.

"Why not?"

"Because you loath ceremony and being the centre of attention," she reasons, dropping a quick kiss to her mouth before she pulls away.

There is more, much more but at the same time Emma's comfort is _enough_. After her time in the other world, Regina has decided some things need to change and she's going to start with these asinine traditions that serve no purpose beyond allowing the peasants to think their approval actually matters. It is a waste of time and effort that can be better spent elsewhere.

Walking over to their bed, she turns and sits, beckoning Emma to her with a crook of her finger. "Come here."

Emma comes without thought, hesitance or protest but with a curious expression. Regina smiles up at her. "Are you loyal to me, Emma?"

"What?" She raises a brow and Emma sighs. "Yes, _Your Majesty_."

Regina lightly smacks her thigh. "The correct form of address is _my Queen_ , my Captain," she chides playfully. Emma grins, her gaze falling to watch as Regina begins to undo the buttons on her shirt. "Who told you about the oath?"

"Mom."


	14. Chapter 14

Her relief at not having to go through with that awful ceremony her mother wouldn't shut the hell up about is short-lived. It didn't occur to Emma what Regina was doing until it was done, and then it was too late as the hand that _was_ divesting her of her shirt turned on her, pressed into her stomach and pushed her back.

Coercion and manipulation. Regina had said it just this morning— admitted to it, and there she was, happily falling for it once again. By the time she's caught on, Regina is up and marching for the door.

Eyes slipping shut, Emma hangs her head and laughs quietly.

Again, really, who can blame her? When Regina wants something, she will do everything in her power to get it and that includes taking advantage of Emma's inability to concentrate when she thinks they're about to have sex. It's been done often enough that she knows. She knows, but she just can't help herself. There is something about Regina _wanting_ her that makes everything else seem wholly irrelevant in comparison.

Sighing, exasperating but fond, she pivots and heads for the door. She jogs to catch up to Regina who's made it a fair distance down the hall, and falls into step beside her.

"What's it going to be today?" Regina spares her a glance but says nothing and Emma huffs. How many times have they done this now? Regina storming the palace in search of her oblivious mother, ready to curse the unfortunate soul of Snow _fucking_ (as Regina likes to refer to her, often) White. "Fire? Choking? Beheading? I have some suggestions if you're running out of threats."

Regina pauses in her stride and Emma stops as they face each other. They stare. It could almost be a competition had Regina the patience, but she doesn't. "I'm waiting," she drawls after barely a few seconds.

"Oh!" _Boy._ She should not be this excited about giving Regina ideas on ways to threaten her mother, but she has a list, and she's too proud of some not to share. "Flaying," she decides to start with.

It's tame in comparison, and it's not one she's heard Regina use yet. She _does_ think it was only a matter of time though.

"A fairly decent start," Regina commends, head tilted as she gives her an appreciative once over. Emma beams. "Continue."

"Buried alive?" Expression blank with that one, Emma agrees, "You're right, too cliché. Gibbeting?"

"Takes too long," Regina reasons, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have. "Your father would have time to rescue her."

Which is true. Personally Emma hasn't considered the ins and outs of each method of execution, but that's why Regina is Queen and why she prefers the simple threat of punching people in the face over gruesome murder.

"Disembowelment," is her next thought. Also tame, but it gets worse the further down the list she gets. Regina shakes her head. "Brazen bull?"

"The former is just as cliché as live burial, the latter would technically count as immolation, which has been covered."

Emma nods, conceding. She included it more out of consideration anyway. Regina likes fire, ergo threatening to trap her mother inside a giant bronze bull which would then be set on fire seemed like something Regina would enjoy.

Shrugging, she grins and moves on to her next suggestion, "What about impalement? And I mean the forced to sit on a spike kind not that through the stomach or head rubbish."

Regina winces and says, "You'd have made a lovely Evil Queen, dear."

Taking the compliment as it was meant, her grin widens.  "I'm touched you think so. Want some more?"

"That's— you _have_ more?"

"Loads," she chuckles. She isn't even at the good ones yet. "Hanging, crucifixion, sawing, rats."

"Rats?"

"Yeah, you know, being eaten alive?"

Regina stares at her, hard. She sounds offended when she questions, "Emma Swan, have you been hiding your inner sadist from me for all this time?"

"I used to read a lot," she explains with another shrug. There was a lot of time in between catching bail jumpers, not to mention all the free time she had in Regina's crime free town as Sheriff. "There are so many ways to kill someone. Did you know Persian's had this one execution method where they trapped someone inside rowboats and force fed them milk and honey until they had severe diarrhea and eventually died of septic shock?"

That's her favourite one; mostly because the thought of pooping yourself to death causes her inner child to roll around on the floor and laugh like a crazy person.

"I did not," Regina admits, alarmingly pale for someone with her darker complexion.

Emma squints. Should she stop? "You alright?"

"I fear your plan to nauseate me today may finally bear fruition."

"Huh." For a once Evil Queen, Regina is weirdly more squeamish than Emma thought she'd be. "Sorry?"

"I need to speak with your mother."

"Still?" After all that, she _hadn't_ managed to distract Regina? She's losing her touch.

"You're not the only one whose head she's gotten into Emma. I will not tolerate her assumptions as to how I choose to rule. She abdicated of her own free will and if she does not desist meddling in my affairs, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

Her vehemence has Emma blinking back in surprise. Her mother is meddlesome, there's no denying that, but surely Regina is overreacting? Either that or there's something she isn't telling her. "What are you talking about?"

"Jade," Regina snaps, flushing guiltily in the next moment.

Emma gestures dismissively, more concerned at the mention of Henry's friend than any misdirected anger. "What about her?"

"Your mother." Emma rolls her eyes, she'd already made _that_ connection. She gestures again, this time prompting an actual explanation. Regina sighs. "Our son was befriending the female populace with the misconception he needed to find a young bride for when he becomes King."

Her mouth falls opens, disgust and outrage painted across her face, and Regina nods. "Precisely," she says. "Your mother is going around spreading this nonsense, trying to turn you and _our son_ into people you are not. I will not stand for it."

"Henry will marry _if_ he chooses, and it will be for love, _not_ because he is my heir. And _you!_ You are not some common knight who need bend the knee to me and be paraded about because some imbecile from centuries ago decided that was what needed to be—" Regina's rant cuts short as soon as Emma moves. "Where are you going?"

Without looking back, she replies, "Snow."

Regina's touching speech was all well and good, and she appreciates it, but Henry is _ten_ for fuck sakes. Marriage! At ten! He'll be lucky if she lets him _date_ before he's thirty and that's assuming Regina agrees with her. He might very well be on his death bed before Regina finally relents and allows him to even think about a girl with anything more than a friendly thought.

Throwing open the doors to her parents private chambers minutes later, she shouts, "Snow fucking White!"

Having caught up to her by then and likely not expecting someone to shout right next to her ear, Regina cuffs the back of her head. Emma doesn't fault her for it in the slightest. She cringes and furiously whispers a, "Sorry," as Snow appears looking flustered but also like she's on the verge of scolding Emma for her language.

Emma points a finger at her, glaring. "Don't even," she snaps. "It wasn't bad enough that you made me uncomfortable with all that talk of dressing up like some fucking tin-man reject to prance about in front of a parade of complete strangers, but you made our son think he needed to find a _wife!_ What is wrong with you?!"

Even more flustered, Snow sputters in an attempt to defend herself but Emma isn't done, not by a long shot. "What's next? Are you going to arrange my marriage to some wealthy King in another realm?"

"Don't be absurd!" Snow cries and it would have been a good start down the right path had she not then added, "You'll marry Regina."

Emma takes her turn to sputter wordlessly. Regina helpfully picks up her slack with an adamant, "She most certainly will not."

Nodding her agreement, Emma closes her mouth. Snow gapes at Regina in horror, voice a pitch or two high. "What?"

"I may accuse you of being the most selfish, simple-minded windbag I've ever met but really, Snow, you cannot be this dim."

Emma winces because _yes she can_. She's been hinting since they arrived that she wasn't interested in any of this. If Snow was smart and actually _listened_ , they wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

"After all the time we spent in the other world, you would prefer to return to the old ways where men long since dead continue to dictate our lives and the lives of those we love?"

When Regina takes a step forward, Emma reaches out to pull her back but she reconsiders at the last second. Her mother has spent most of their time together filling her head with all sorts of ideas about what will be expected of her once they're all finally settled and everything is running as (in Snow's words) it _should_ be. If she interferes now, there's no telling what else Snow will come up with to badger her about.

"I will tell you right now, Snow White, I do not," Regina states vehemently as she inches closer. "I will neither be forced nor will I force another into a marriage against their will, or mine again, that includes your daughter and that _certainly_ includes our son."

Finding a comfortable spot of wall to lean against, Emma watches as Snow tries to digest Regina's words. Her throat bobs numerous times while she tries to collect herself, still somewhat flustered despite the fact she really should be used to Regina's confrontations by now.

When her lips part for the third, and what is apparently the final time, what she says surprises them both.

"I'm sorry, Regina. I had no idea. I thought being in this world, we needed to acclimatize again. I was only trying to help. Had I known your intentions, I never would have spoken to Henry about being your heir." She turns to Emma when she adds, "I never intended to make you uncomfortable, Emma. I did notice but when you didn't say anything, I just assumed you needed time to adjust, just like you did with your magic and with… with everything else."

Emma frowns. If Regina hadn't told her it wasn't necessary, that is exactly what she would have done. If it was what was required of her, then she'd have adjusted just as Snow said. She'd done it with everything else, there was no reason to believe this would be any different.

"I did," she admits before she looks to Regina. She pushes from the wall as she says, "I would have."

Sighing, Regina nods. "I know you would." Lifting a hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose. "I…" She groans, eyes squeezed shut. "— I apologize, Snow."

A wry grin spreads across her mother's face when she says, "That looked painful."

Regina's mouth twitches, lashes fluttering as her eyes open. "Apologizing to you is literally my _Hell_."

Snow smiles sweetly and coos, "I forgive you."

Regina groans even louder.

 

.

.

.

 

News of court that night spreads.

There was no speech, no flowery decree about the systematic dismantling of century old traditions. Regina decided then and there in the room with her once-nemesis and lover that she would not allow anyone the time to make the same mistakes Snow had. She stood tall in front of her throne and declared her intentions, listing the plans she had for her Kingdom.

She expected resistance to some, if not all of her decisions. Time will tell how all of her changes are taken, but for that hour and the days following, her subjects appear to take it all in stride.

In a little over three days, she has been asked to ordain more separations than she'd ever had marriages. Divorce, it seems, is especially popular among the nobility. Less so among the lower classes but when you're not blinded by wealthy ambition or social acceptance, she supposes marrying for love makes sense.

From what she's seen and heard so far, the only thing that is apparently bothering people was her cancellation of the Winter Festival.

"I may have been a little hasty there," she admits, eying Morgan who sits across from her on the other side of the desk. Morgan nods as she continues reading the reports. "Why are you doing this? Isn't that Emma's job now?"

"The last time someone brought Emma one of these, she yelled for twenty minutes about stupid, indecisive peasants, then asked the guard who'd brought it to her if, when his ass next itched, he'd like to request the Queen's permission to scratch it," Morgan murmurs.

Even as she laughs, Regina feels her chest warm with that increasingly familiar affection she has for one Emma Swan. It is clear from the amusement in her former Captain's voice that she too is growing fond of her successor. Though Morgan has always been tolerant and abundantly more stoic when it comes to dealing with disputes among the peasants, she too rarely enjoyed this part of her job and, unlike with the peasants, she'd never shied away from letting her Queen know it.

"Getting along now, are we?"

"You know me," Morgan drawls, peering up at her. "Always willing to suffer Her Majesty's choices."

Regina smirks. That is a lie if ever she's heard one. "That isn't how I remember it."

"It _is_ your sixty first name—" Morgan gasps, laughing as her chair starts to tilt back in warning. "My Queen!"

Regina lets her hang. "I get enough of that lip from Emma," she says, eyes narrowed. As time passes she is seeing more similarities between them. Appearances and temperaments aside, their personalities aren't too different. She doesn't know how she hadn't seen it sooner.

"Who do you think I learned it from?" Regina releases her suddenly and Morgan jolts forward with another laugh. She snickers at Regina's wide-eyed stare, then winks. "Thanks for the new friend, Your Majesty."

Groaning, Regina shakes her head. She'd known they would get along once they were both passed the whole soul mate nonsense, but this is— this is _not_ what she had in mind. "I swear if I ever have to put up with you two together, I'm killing you both."

Morgan grins. "Fair enough." After a moment of silence, she shakes the report in her hand and adds, "So what am I supposed to do about these?"

Regina shrugs. She may have been hasty in cancelling some of the festivals, but that doesn't mean she thinks it a bad idea entirely. "Tell the ones complaining that they are free to celebrate as they see fit, but that the crown will no longer be providing the funds to do so. We have more important things to concern ourselves with than the peasants and their drunken revelry."

"Besides," she continues, "It's always so damn cold." If she's being honest, that was her main reason for cancelling this particular festival to begin with. "As I recall, the death rate at this time of year always rises. Perhaps if they're less concerned with getting drunk and frolicking around outside in the snow like idiots, they won't die so often."

The advances in medical science from the other world is something she also will need to look into. The number of people who die yearly due to what she now knows are easily curable diseases is absurd.

"Hmm." She rises, waving dismissively when Morgan goes to stand. "Finish your work. I need to speak with the imp."

"Don't forget to take Emma with you."

"She isn't my keeper."

Scribbling something down, Morgan counters, "That is exactly what she is."

Regina grunts but she doesn't refute the claim as she turns to leave. "Ask Emma the milk and honey story she told me," she says, tugging open the door. "Because if you tell her you had to remind me, that's what I'm going to do to you."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever. It turns out I was sick after all and… me and my muse medicated is worse than normal, trust me. I get all fluffy and angsty, and weird. It's just all around awful to see. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm somewhat better. Enough to update this at least. I feel I should warn everyone this is purely a smut chapter. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I've kind of established already that it's how Regina gets what she wants so… meh. There is M!C because I like writing it as much as I like reading it, and I really like reading it so, for those of you who don't, this is your warning; don't read beyond the first scene.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath. She'd recognized where she was and what was happening as soon as the smoke cleared but it didn't lessen her surprise any. One minute she was bent over panting after having her ass handed to her in a three on one with the guards, and the next she was dumped in what looked to be a giant pool made from marble, warm water lapping the underside of her breasts.

It is a bath, in actual fact. A bath she was intending to use on her way back from the training yard because while Regina may become unbelievably turned on at the sight of her all sweaty and breathless, she isn't too fond of the smell that tends to develop afterwards.

A pleasured sigh from behind has her turning as Regina deftly slides into the bath and she forgets herself— forgets to ask, to complain. She devours the sight of her love moving toward her. The ripples do nothing to hide Regina's body from her, making her mouth water while her chest heaves with unadulterated want.

She has enough time to realize she's still clothed before Regina closes the short gap between them, grips her shirt and tears it straight down the middle. It's ripped from her frame and tossed to the side.

Then she's gasping, her head thrown back as Regina palms her breasts and descends on her throat. Her bra disappears next, clawed from her chest as if mauled by an animal; snapped straps and broken clasp joining her shirt at the far end of the oversized bath.

Winding a hand through silken hair as the hot, wet mouth moves along her skin, she moans. Regina alternates between licking, sucking and biting, marking her way down Emma's neck and across her collarbone.

Emma wants to ask, wants to know but it's been so long. So long since Regina _took_ her like this. The night she was injured had come close, but not like this. This is reminiscent of their earlier days, when their encounters were fuelled by an anger equal only to their passion— when Regina would throw her up against the nearest surface and bitch about every single thing that was wrong with her, with them, while she demanded her release, over and over, again and again.

"Fuck," she groans, tugging as teeth close around her nipple and Regina bites down. "You want something, don't you?"

A muffled chuckle is her only answer, but it's the only answer she needs. She tries to think of what it could be but she knows it's pointless. Regina knows her too well, wants her enough, and loves her far, far too much for Emma to even delude herself.

She can't concentrate. Not like this.

She moans a second time, a skilled tongue drawing a path from breast to breast, lips wrapping around her nipple and sucking it into that mouth. Regina hums and Emma feels the sound vibrate through her.

Her toes curl as her sex throbs and a low, pathetic whimper escapes her. "Regina," she rasps, dipping her head forward. Regina glances up and then that mouth is there, grinning at her before Emma surges, laying claim to it.

There's another chuckle, hands proceeding the tingle it sends down her spine as they map her back and head straight for her ass. Regina palms both cheeks roughly and pulls their lower halves together, distracting Emma long enough to take control of the kiss.

She doesn't mind. How can she when it is exactly what she wants? She likes her control as much as the next person but _this_ is Regina in her element and Emma is too weak to resist, too eager for the tongue that forces its way into her mouth— for the hands that squeeze and knead, and dig into her ass to the point pain and pleasure collide and she doesn't know where one begins and the other ends.

Regina turns them around and she's nudging, coaxing Emma back, back, back until she feels the ledge of the bath press into her spine. The heady aroma of magic fills her nose, goosebumps forming at her nape and along her arms, and then she's seated up there, looking down into eyes already so dark they're almost black with lust.

Hands stroke her hips and up over her ribs before sliding back down. They rest on her leather-clad thighs, spreading her as that familiar scent intensifies and the rest of her clothes vanish, leaving her bare and open for the gaze that falls to take her in.

Regina's nostrils flare and before she knows it, Emma is gasping as she holds a head against her chest, teeth clamping down on her breast.

Whatever has gotten into Regina, she hopes it happens more often because at this point; whatever Regina wants, she can bloody well _have_.

"Have I ever told you how much I enjoy your body?" Emma moans as Regina swirls her tongue over the mark she's left behind. "Perfect breasts, those beautifully toned arms, and _that_ stomach…" Regina groans and kisses her way down to said stomach. "If I weren't so tempted by that delicious little cunt of yours, I would spend the rest of my life worshipping the rest of you."

Speechless, Emma swallows and glances at the hand suddenly between her breasts. She has barely a second to brace herself before Regina pushes, but it's just enough time to keep her head from hitting the floor with the same force as her back.

She arches with a pained hiss, then higher in pleasure, the moan falling effortlessly from her lips as Regina licks from entrance to clit before burying her face in her cunt.

From there she can hardly tell what it is Regina is doing to her, but she doesn't ever want her to stop. There's licking and sucking, and she thinks at some point she feels teeth, but none of it compares to the feeling of being so _full_ , so _fucked_.

She loses track of the mouth and her head feels fuzzy, three fingers thrusting in and out, hard and fast, overwhelming her senses from the very moment they enter her. She's squirming and moaning, aware there are words coming out of her mouth but deaf to what they are as the blood rushes to her ears and heat sparks wildly in her veins.

Somewhere in the mess of sensations, she comes and she only _knows_ because her body won't move and the fingers have slowed, Regina lapping between her legs and humming in approval.

"Fuck," she breathes, voice hoarse. She wonders if she'd started screaming because she doesn't remember a time when her throat has felt drier. She also wonders if that's the fastest she's ever come, but doesn't know because she honestly has no idea how much time has passed since her back hit the cold stone floor. "Fuck."

"I do hope I haven't broken you too soon," Regina drawls amusingly. "I wasn't quite finished with you yet."

Trying to push herself to her elbows, Emma quickly gives up when the effort to even move an arm is beyond her. She peers down at Regina instead, glad she can at least roll her eyes down from the back of her head.

"For this, I can only assume you want my firstborn."

Regina smirks and reminds her, "I already have your firstborn, dear."

"Oh." Either she did hit her head after all, or Regina has managed to fuck her into a state where she'd briefly forgotten she has a son. She laughs. "Right."

Arms draped across her thighs, Regina bends forward, resting her chin on Emma's stomach. She continues to smirk, staring up at her as she asks, " _Have_ I broken you, dear?"

Feeling the strength slowly returning to her, Emma risks a shrug. "Maybe," she replies, lips spreading with her grin. "You _do_ have some of me on your face there."

"Do I?"

At her raised brow, Emma nods, biting her lip as she tries to look serious. She dissolves into a fit laughter a moment later, not expecting the sound of Regina 'motor boating' her as she wipes her mouth back and forth across her stomach. "Oh my god."

Lifting her head and hiding her smile, Regina sucks any remnants of Emma's pleasure from her lower lip and cocks her brow again. "Better?"

Still laughing, Emma shakes her head. "Not really," she says. "I kinda like seeing you covered in me…"

Regina gives a pleased little rumble in the back of her throat. "You have no idea how glad I am you've said that." Her gaze impossibly darker, she purrs, "Because I too have an overwhelming desire to see _you_ covered in _me."_

"Oh?"

"That man, in the tavern, gave me an idea." Emma frowns in confusion and Regina explains, "He said you were… lacking something. You don't have to be. In fact, I'm quite curious of how my recent fantasies might match up to reality."

"You—" Emma shakes her head in an attempt to dislodge the sudden images in her mind. She takes a breath and tries again, "You want— you can give me a…"

"Mhmm." Regina nods, lips gliding over her stomach, mouthing flesh, nibbling and sucking before she says, "A nice, thick cock to fuck me with— if that's something you think might interest you."

 _Interest her?_ Jesus fucking Christ. She could be inside Regina, like _really_ inside her— feeling her clench, feeling her come. Why _wouldn't_ that interest her?

 _Fuck_ yes is what she wants to say, but then a thought occurs to her and she clears her throat. "Would I be able to…"

"Come inside me?" Regina guesses. Emma nods. "It can be arranged, if you don't mind the—"

"I don't," she quickly interrupts. "I mean, I'd rather not think about it but if I can come inside you? Fuck no, I don't mind."

It isn't like they'll be permanent.

 _Right_?

"You'll be uh…"  She sighs. This would be so much easier if she knew more about magic. "It won't be… staying, right?"

Chuckling softly, Regina kisses her stomach. "No dear. It will go the same way it comes." When Emma snorts, she rolls her eyes. "Juvenile."

"You love me."

"An unfortunate side-effect of being your True Love," she responds dryly before she straightens and steps back. "Now get back in here, you can put those arms to good use for once."

 

.

.

.

 

As Emma sits up and runs a hand through her hair, Regina is distracted momentarily by the rise and fall of a breast. She shakes her head and takes another step back to give Emma room. She really is far too enamoured with her chest if she's already considering forgoing the idea of Emma's cock just to have her mouth on them again.

Though, at the reminder of what they're about to do, the desire that had waned during their conversation flickers back to life and she feels herself growing wetter as she watches Emma slide gracefully back into the water.

Catching her frown and slight shiver, Regina flicks her wrist. "I hadn't noticed," she reasons as the water begins to warm. She closes the short distance between them, pressing Emma back against the bath as she brings their bodies together and says, sounding vaguely apologetic, "I was a tad bit… preoccupied."

Emma smiles, hands finding her hips beneath the water. "I forgive you," she murmurs, leaning in— likely for a kiss.

Regina pulls back and grins at her pout. "First things first," she purrs, slipping a hand between them.

Pressing against her stomach, Emma closes her eyes with a warm, soft hum. Regina slowly inches her way down, lips curling with a smile of her own. Hand smoothing over the soft tuft of hair between Emma's thighs, she cups her sex, magic gathering at the tips of her fingers.

Emma's jaw goes slack as her breathing deepens. Lips parting, Regina smiles wider and leans in, kissing her just as Emma moans into her mouth and jerks against her hand.

The cock grows long and thick beneath her palm. Already hard, she moves her fingers up its length, inch by inch. She wraps around the tip, delighting in Emma's beautiful whimper as she breaks the kiss. Emma opens her eyes, guided forward by a gentle tug.

"I want you to hold me," Regina husks, chuckling when arms immediately embrace her. Regina kisses her jaw, purring as she releases her cock, demanding, "Lift me."

Emma does and they both moan as the new addition rests between them, nestled between Regina's thighs. "I want you to fuck me," she whispers, nose to cheek, lips to ear. "Nice and hard, right up against the wall there. I want to feel the pain of my back against marble with your every thrust…"

Groaning, Emma spins them and walks the few short steps forward so she can have her wish. Regina's body thrums, pleased. "Fuck me, Emma," she husks. "Make your Queen scream for you."

Fumbling, shoving her hand between them, Emma pulls her hips back. Regina chuckles again when the abrupt, strangled sound escapes her mouth. "Gentle," she cautions, "We wouldn't want you to waste that precious come on my thighs now, would we?"

"Christ." It takes Emma a moment but then Regina feels the tip against her and she grins. She deliberately rocks forward, easily taking the head and loving the stretch, but especially loving the way Emma's eyes widen. "Holy sh—"

She presses a finger to her mouth. "It gets better," she warns. She lowers her voice, allowing the desire to fill her tone as she confides, "Much, _much_ better."

Throat bobbing with her swallow, Emma nods and Regina removes the finger. She wraps her arms around Emma's neck and captures her mouth, their moans simultaneous as Emma sinks another few inches into her.

They kiss until Emma is buried all the way inside and Regina can't take waiting any longer. She forgot how good it felt to be so full— to be so full of Emma is even better than she imagined.

"Emma…"

She doesn't even need to ask, or demand. As soon as the name leaves her mouth, Emma starts to move.

It's slow at first, nothing at all like how she wanted it. She has to remind herself that it's Emma's first time, multiple times, before she concedes to allow the pace, for now.

With every thrust, she murmurs encouragement, praising her, letting Emma know how good she feels.

With every thrust, she despises the almost emptiness and savours every second she's full.

With every thrust, she feels Emma's confidence grow.

Emma thrusts faster, deeper, harder.

On one particular thrust, the hands leave her hips and Regina forgets. She wants to demand them back, needing to feel them, and then her lower back hits the wall and she gasps.

There's no pain, not yet but _soon_ , she knows.

"Oh god."

The exclamation spurs Emma on, white-knuckled as she clutches the edge of the bath on either side of Regina. The momentum of her hips drives Regina into the wall repeatedly, each thrust more forceful than the last.

Their breathes heavy and their lust fuelled moans long, Regina clings to Emma with everything she has

"Yes," she moans, the ache in her back gradually growing. "So good," she mumbles, burying her face in the crook of her arm and Emma's neck.

Emma growls right before teeth pierce her shoulder. Regina cries out, every muscle in her body tensing in surprise, but releasing in the span of a few seconds as pleasure overrides pain.

Threading fingers through her hair, she rips the mouth from her and ignores the pain as she yanks Emma's head back. She bites Emma's lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then hisses, "You do _not_ bite your Queen."

"You do if she likes it," Emma counters, jerking her hips. Regina gasps, letting go of her hair to cling to her shoulders instead as she's pushed closer to her peak.

Emma smirks and leans in, sucking at her throat before she whispers, "And _you_ , my cock hungry Queen, _love_ it." Strong teeth bite down on flesh and Regina moans, the sting they leave behind creating a delicious path from hollow to chin as her walls clench at the words.

The demanding throb between her thighs is unbearable. "Make me come," she groans pleadingly.

Like a good, dutiful Captain, Emma does. With a few well-timed thrusts and the pad of a thumb eagerly rubbing her clit, Regina stiffens. She grips Emma's cock in the iron grip of her cunt and as a moan not her own permeates the air, she topples over the edge, crying out in pleasure as, with one final thrust, Emma shudders, gasping, and comes inside of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't connected the dots yet, what Regina wants will become clear next chapter… and no, it's not a baby.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma swears quite a bit in this but given the content, I'm sure you'll agree it's all perfectly justified.

From bath to floor, to different rooms and different pieces of furniture, they make it to a bed eventually. Emma can't pin point _whose_ bed precisely, all she'd figured out before Regina attacked her again was that it wasn't _their_ bed. She's coming down from her fifth (maybe sixth) high when Regina finally tells her what set all of this off, and then she's staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling as she tries to process the words and come up with any thought other than "the fuck?"

Tries, and fails.

"You want to talk to Rumple," she repeats because maybe her ears were playing tricks on her and—

"Yes."

Or not. "The fuck for?" He ruined their lives all because he regretted abandoning his jerk off of a son, and Regina wants to sit down and have a _chat_ with him? Worse, she wants to subject _her_ to that? She'd hoped to never have to see Neal or his slimy father ever again.

"I want to incorporate things from the other world into this one," Regina murmurs against her chest. "He might be able to help."

Emma grunts for lack of a response. She has one, but she doubts Regina will appreciate it. It consists mostly of the phrase _"Fuck no,"_ and, _"Have you lost your damn mind?"_ If not for their son, she'd have pushed Regina to lock them both up, then asked for the key just for the pleasure of losing it.

Unfortunately, it was _her_ who'd insisted on accompanying Regina were she to ever decide to be in the same room as one of them. Emma sighs because she _knows_ her well enough to know Regina will find some way around their agreement if she says no and, honestly, they somehow find enough things to fight about without her going and providing a reason on purpose.

"What things?"

Regina tilts her head back and smiles up at her. "Medicine, electricity, plumbing."

Emma frowns. All those things _would_ be nice to have again. As this world stands in its current state, she assumes they're living in what could be mistaken for medieval England with magic, and it is _not_ as fun as all the fantasy novels she's read over the years have made it out to be.

Begrudgingly, she admits, "I do miss not having to empty my own—"

Snorting, Regina interjects with, "I keep telling you we have servants for that."

"Don't start. I don't like having servants and neither you nor my mother is ever going to change that." If she doesn't want to face her own bodily functions, she's hardly going to subject anyone else to it. Disgusted by the thought, she shudders and says, "Wouldn't Leroy, or Whale, or— whoever the plumber was, be better candidates for integrating these things?"

They might've gotten their education from a curse, but their knowledge is real. What can Rumplestiltskin tell her that none of them could?

From her silence, she gathers Regina hadn't considered that. She waits, giving her the time to think it over as she begins to draw nonsensical patterns on her back.

After a while, she feels the warm huff of breath across her skin before, "I have a confession to make."

She pauses, confused as she glances down at the head attempting to burrow deeper into her chest. "Yes?"

"We're already here." Met with a silence of her own, Regina raises her head. "Don't be angry."

"Not angry," she says truthfully. She can't be, not when part of her wants to burst out laughing. No, she's not angry, just quietly amused and weirdly adoring. "Typical Regina strikes again."

Brow furrowing, Regina questions, "What?" Her bemused expression does it. Emma starts to laugh and Regina huffs again, repeating, " _What_?" When that doesn't work, she tweaks her nipple. Emma gasps, choking. "I swear—"

"You just…" She chuckles, cheeks hurting with her grin. "You do these _things_ that are just so… you and it doesn't even surprise me anymore."

Regina's frown deepens as she says, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?" She shakes her head and Emma gestures to the room surrounding them. "You've spent the last two hours pleasing me instead of telling me what you want, and when you finally do tell me, you're already convinced I'll do it. I know that illusion of choice would piss off most people, but I fucking love you for it and it's ridiculous."

"Sounds it," Regina agrees, head tilted to the side in thought before her mouth quirks with amused understanding and she says, "You really are rather whipped, dear."

"I _know_ ," Emma stresses with another chuckle. Moving the hand on her back to her neck, she gently tugs and Regina rises. Lips inches apart, she tugs again, pulling Regina down and capturing her mouth in a short, sweet kiss before she breathes, "But I also know that's more than you give anyone else."

Regina smiles, resting their heads together. "And you're okay with that?"

Emma nods. She is more than okay with it, especially if the illusion comes with enough orgasms to almost render her unconscious. "As long as my choices are real when it comes to us and the things that _matter_ , I'll pretend to be oblivious whenever you want to toy with me."

"You're very accommodating," Regina murmurs teasingly, rubbing their noses together before kissing her again. "It's extremely arousing, you know."

"Mmm, I'm sure," Emma replies, grinning. "Unfortunately, now that I know where we are…" Sticking her head in a vat of acid is more appealing than the thought of Rumple or Neal walking in on them. She grimaces and adds seriously, "Ew."

Regina laughs as she rolls from on top of her and off the bed with a grace that would, ordinarily, surprise Emma were she anyone else.

"Did you ever find that bleach you were after?"

"No," Regina says, smirking as she flicks her wrist and dresses them both.

A heavy thump beside her turns Emma's head. She frowns on seeing the weapon lying next to her. If Regina is expecting a fight, she'd be more comfortable with her gun. She looks up to say as much, but the gleam in those eyes and the grin Regina wears stops her short.

"I thought you might appreciate having something to ram through your ex if he comes near you."

Gaze darting back to the billhook, Emma matches her grin as the more pleasant thought fills her head. Every day, she finds more and more reasons to love Regina. It's absurd how many of them exist, really. "You're too good to me— for me."

It's a thought she has often, but not one she's ever voiced until now.

"No," Regina argues, instantly snaring her attention again. She's ready for an argument to start, but there's no need as Regina bends down, grasps her chin and kisses her firmly. "I'm just good enough," she purrs, straightening. "And, as your True Love, I dare say I am _perfect_ for you, my sweet imbecile."

"I should feel insulted." She should, but she doesn't. She doesn't know if it's the thought of impaling Neal that still dances in her mind, the kiss, or the fact Regina's eyes brighten significantly whenever she utters the words, "True Love," but whatever it is that's responsible for the growing warmth she feels, it's the _only_ thing she feels.

"Your inability to do so is noted and will be examined at a later date where I will consider whether I _should_ make it up to you or not." Her eyes roll and Regina smirks as she says, "Up you get. I've waited long enough to watch a grown man cower in the presence of my fearsome Captain."

 

.

.

.

 

He does cower, and it as wonderful and as satisfying as Regina knew it would be. Confronted with his fear of her, Emma exudes a quiet but also very _loud_ confidence physically when Baelfire virtually flees from the room at the sight of them. Regina smiles at his frowning father, smug. There is nothing quite like her lover's well-deserved arrogance combined with the back of that cowardly cretin's head and the imp's frustration to brighten her day.

Well— besides what she'd been doing to Emma just down the hall, but remembering she'd put a stop to _that_ in order to do _this_ is too depressing a thought to lament on, so witnessing Baelfire run from Emma like a terrified child will have to suffice.

"Regina," Rumple sighs. He glances from her to Emma, and back again. "Was the weapon truly necessary?"

"I don't know," she drawls, eyes fixed to him as she asks Emma, "Was it necessary, dear?"

"Uh huh."

Hands spreading wide in a gesture that needs no words, she continues to smile as Rumple shakes his head at them both. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that anyone who can love you can hold a grudge just as well."

Sensing Emma's outrage, Regina settles a hand on her lower back to still her words before returning the barb in kind. "I imagine it surprises you no more than it does me to learn your son is a spineless weasel— cut from the same cloth, like father like son… and all those other tedious idioms I could spend all day spouting, no closer to having what I want, or giving you what _you_ want by leaving and taking the embodiment of your child's nightmares away."

Feeling Emma stiffen beneath her hand, Regina starts to rub her back as Rumple inclines his head. "Touché." He gestures to the seat where his son had sat until she and Emma walked in, and says, "Have a drink with me, then. It's the least you can do after chasing away my only company."

She waits until Emma relaxes into her touch before taking her hand away, then snags the hand Emma isn't using to hold the vicious looking implement, to lead her across the room. As they take their seats, Rumple pours them each a drink without lifting a hand, a barely perceptible twitch of his wrist the only indication he'd used magic at all when their goblets rise to hover in front of their faces.

"How are the lessons, dearie?"

"Swell," she replies, taking both goblets from the air. She passes Emma's to her before patting the back of her hand, understanding the look Emma gives her and silently assuring her that it's safe to drink.

"Emma is a quick study." Her voice heavy with sarcasm, she adds, "It is simply amazing what one can learn when their teacher takes the time to teach them rather than play childish games."

"Yes," he counters in a bored tone, "I'm certain sleeping with her doesn't contribute at all to her motivation in the slightest."

Hiding her smirk, Regina curls her hand over a thigh as Emma sputters on her wine. "Do remember to breathe through your nose when putting things into your mouth, dear," she teases, allowing the smirk to blossom when Emma glares at her.

"If you two are done flirting, perhaps one of you might enlighten me as to what crime I've committed recently to have to suffer through this visit?"

Pondering, Regina turns back to him with a tilt of her head. Unless holing up inside your castle with your fully grown, adult son is somehow a crime— well. She wrinkles her nose. Best not to think about that.

"Despite it being something rather obvious," she begins, "it has only occurred to me recently that this world is lacking in certain… conveniences."

"Really? I noticed it immediately upon our return."

"Yes, well…" She's a Queen with a kingdom to run, a child to raise and an— an Emma to occupy. She shrugs and says, "I've been busy."

The corner of his mouth twists, caught somewhere between a smile and a sneer. Sipping from his own goblet, he then sighs, their gazes meeting as he states, "You want my help."

"Require would be the preferable term," she drawls. _Want_. What she _wants_ is to return to her palace— to her bed where she and Emma can continue what they were doing before this unpleasantness began. "But yes, that is the gist of it."

"Are you offering a deal?"

She scowls. Damn Dark Ones. "No."

He raises a brow and repeats, "No?"

"You owe me," she growls.

"Perhaps," he replies, amused by her anger. "My nature, however, demands a price be paid for my help, and if you are unwilling—"

A scoff breaks their stare down, their gazes simultaneously falling on Emma as she says, "My nature demands I ram this here hook straight up your ass, and yet…"

His eyes roll while Regina's soften. Gods, does she love this woman.

"Charming."

"Rumple," she says, distracting him. She reaches for Emma's hand and entwines their fingers as she speaks. "There is only one thing you could possibly ask of me and you should know that it will be over my dead body that I allow that regurgitated scrotum you call a son near my child ever again."

"I see your time with the Savior has added a little colour to your vocabulary." He smirks at her before shaking his head. "I know you pride yourself on always being right, dearie, but in this instance, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint. You are wrong. I am aware of what my son did and that any chance he might have had to bond with my grandson is long gone regardless of his want. Just as I protected him, I understand your desire to protect little Henry _and_ I posses no desire of my own to argue with you."

Surprised, Regina sinks into the cushion at her back with a frown. If not that, then what?

Unfortunately, before she can ask, Baelfire bursts back into the room, apparently having been eavesdropping on their conversation. Surprise surprise, she muses to herself. Loath as she is to attribute anything about her son to the imbecile, it explains where Henry had gotten it from because it certainly isn't a trait of hers, nor, does she think, is it one of Emma's.

No. Emma wouldn't wait. She'd barge right in, uninvited, even if the conversation had nothing to do with her. She's adorable like that.

Shooing such thoughts from her head, she eyes the younger man. He looks nothing like Henry, or Rumple for that matter. Beet red as he is while he angrily spits at his father, he more closely resembles a tomato.

"You really slept with that?" Emma grimaces, her face the picture perfect expression of disgust. It is _delightful_. "I only ask because I'm curious how much therapy you needed before getting the image of that rutting on top of you out of your head."

Emma whines, "Regina," and she chuckles.

"Sorry, my love." Smiling, she squeezes her hand before retrieving her own from Emma's grip and gesturing, freezing Baelfire where he stands.

Mouth open mid-retort, Rumple closes it and straightens slowly. He looks to her, the warning in his tone clear. "Regina."

She ignores it.

 "Entertaining as this is…" She pauses, lashes fluttering innocently at his rapidly forming glare. "— it simply isn't." If she wanted to watch family domestics, she could have stayed home and waited for Snow to come up with another idiotic idea to share with Emma. "I'd like an answer some time today, imp."

His anger dissipates more rapidly than she's expecting. If there is one thing she learned from him all those years ago, then it definitely has to be her capability to throw a temper tantrum in the most dramatically flair-full fashion imaginable. That he resists such a rare opportunity is almost unheard of.

He must _really_ want whatever it is he thinks she can give him.

"The deal," she prompts before the silence becomes awkward. "What do you want?"

With a dismissive wave, he stands from his chair. "I have no doubt what I want will require a lengthier discussion than any we have time for." His gaze darts to his son as his mouth turns down in a frown. "Amusing as you might find it, I do not relish the thought of him stuck like this while we speak."

A simple fix if ever she's heard one.

She flicks her wrist, unfreezing the buffoon at the same time she sends him to the room where she and Emma had emerged from; a shame she has to forgo seeing his face once he notices the unmade bed, but alas, _we do what we must_ , she thinks.

"I ask again," she continues, "what do you want?" He sighs when looking to her, an unspoken question in his eyes. She rolls her own. "He is fine. He is locked in the room of your former maid, you can let him out when we are done."

Jaw clenching visibly, he sits back down. "Your former Captain has in her possession a certain pendant—"

"You're referring to mother's pendant," Regina guesses, wary but curious. He nods. "You wish her to part with her trophy of such a wondrous moment in her life?"

His face contorts, the anger and pain in his expression a fading but familiar memory from long ago. He sneers when she smirks but says nothing as she stands, tugging Emma up with her.

Convincing Morgan to relinquish the trinket will be no small feat, but if that is all he wishes in return for his help, the sentimental fool, then she's certain she'll manage.

"Very well," she says, sighing dramatically. "I suppose her memories of mother's headless torso will—" As he shoots to his feet, magic ready at his fingertips, she laughs and transports Emma and herself back to the palace, safe from harm. "Well… that was fun."

"What the fuck, Regina?"


	17. Chapter 17

It's obvious from the deer-in-the-headlights look Regina is giving her that she hadn't expected the reaction but seriously, what the fuck? "Your mother's _headless torso_ ," Emma repeats. "What the hell was that?"

"Oh." 

The relief that shows on her face only confuses Emma more. "Wh—" A finger presses against her lips.

"—the fuck," Regina finishes with a wry smile. "Yes, I think I've got that part now. You have questions. Of course you do." She chuckles softly. "That should have occurred to me. I suppose it isn't everyday you learn the mother of your lover has died in such a… spectacular fashion."

Emma's eyes bulge. As used to the blasé attitude as she is, she's usually the one giving it, and _not_ when it comes to the gruesome sounding death of someone she's close to. Granted, the few stories she's heard about Cora aren't very flattering and _if_ there's any truth to them, then they're all probably better off with the woman dead but they've never talked about this before and _this_ is how Regina's decided to tell her?

"Come," Regina beckons, sashaying away from her before she can ask _where_.

Frozen, she watches the gentle sway of hips drift further away, too caught up in her head to move. Are they going to talk about this? Is Regina going to tell her how her mother— is the implication from earlier that Morgan had something to do with it? Was Regina really, genuinely happy that her mother is dead?

"Emma," Regina snaps and she jerks, eyes up in time to the see the smirk before Regina disappears around the corner.

She moves quickly to catch up, all the while quietly scolding herself. When she rounds the same corner, she again freezes at the sight of Morgan, Tinkerbelle and Amanda.

"Was there a party someone forgot to invite me to?" She jokes poorly.

Amused, Morgan stops staring at Regina to glance at her and grin. "Sorry, we didn't want to risk the Queen's pet tattling on us."

Emma mock gasps, feigning hurt as Morgan's grin widens.

Regina sighs at them. "If you're both quite done," she drawls, gesturing to the other women. "Please resume escorting the makings of your harem from the palace, then meet us in the library."

Morgan frowns as Regina then brushes passed her. Emma bites her lip to stifle a laugh. She'd thought if anyone might be exempt from Regina's amusing if somewhat aggressive sense of humour today, it would be her soul mate.

That she was wrong doesn't bother her in the slightest; to absolutely no one's surprise, she's sure.

"She been like that all day?"

"Mostly," she admits, confused as Morgan's gaze drops between her legs. "Why are you looking at my crotch?"

Morgan shrugs, her grin impossibly wider. "Just wondering how big it is."

Emma's mouth gapes, realization and shock interlacing as Morgan laughs. "Are you saying…"

No. Fucking. Way.

Again, Morgan shrugs. "She gets giddy when you give it to her," she explains, eyebrows wagging comically. "If it's good, it's good."

"Oh god."

"More like _Oh Emma_ ," Morgan teases.

The way her voice drops to the breathy register that should be reserved solely for her bedmates causes Emma's cheeks to redden. "Oh my god."

"I feel like I'm missing something here," Tinkerbelle pipes in over their combined laughing and groaning.

Morgan snorts. "I'll tell you later."

"No you bloody won't," Emma growls half-heartedly, temporarily distracted from praying the ground will open up and swallow her whole right here and now.

Bad enough _one_ of them now knows what she and Regina were doing. She doesn't need the whole palace knowing by sundown because Tinkerbelle is a shameless gossip and that is _exactly_ what will happen, or so she's been told.

"I don't know why you're so embarrassed," Morgan says, chuckling. "You've done what few men allowed the—"

Emma groans loudly to drown out the rest of her words. "I don't need nor want to know what the rest of that sentence is."

She may have her jealousy under control when it comes to Morgan, but to hear of there being others? She knew. Subconsciously, she _knows_. Regina is drop-dead gorgeous and she loves sex. To think she's only had two lovers in her long life would be naïve at best, and overwhelmingly stupid at worst. That doesn't mean she wants _details_.

Smiling, Morgan pats her on the shoulder. When she'd moved close enough is anyone's guess. Emma peers at her, eyes rolling as another laugh escapes the woman.

"I'll just go and do what the Queen suggested, hmm?"

Nodding, Emma chews the inside of her cheek. Now that the thought is there, she can't seem to get it _out_. "I don't think I like you as much as I thought."

Lower lip jutting, Morgan pouts but her look is coy as she says, "Yes, you do." She pats her shoulder again before turning toward the two silent women. "Come, my lovelies, I'm certain there is a small Prince somewhere needing rescue from a certain infatuated little girl."

When she turns back to Emma, the grin has settled firmly back on her face. Emma huffs at it, and her, before rolling her eyes again and slipping passed. She ignores the laughter at her back, eager to return to Regina and maybe, possibly, convince her to throw Morgan into the dungeon for a few days.

 

.

.

.

 

Why is it always the library? Why? Why can't Snow take over some other part of her palace? Why her favourite place, of all places? There are other rooms with books—books that actually might be _helpful_ to small children, right down the hall, in the _classroom_ where they _belong_. There is nothing useful for them in her library, and yet, the moment she turns her back, Snow and her merry little band of grubby urchins are filling up her nice, safe, quiet haven.

Grunting her frustration, Regina glares at the pixie-headed idiot staring up at her from the floor with wide, doe-like eyes. She wonders if Emma might be bothered should she scoop them out. When had she lost her immunity to them? When did Snow pleading with her for anything other than her life suddenly affect her so?

It is deplorable.

"What's going on?"

Spinning on her heel to face Emma, her arm snaps out, finger pointing straight at Snow. "This is your doing."

Frowning, Emma leans forward to peer into the room. "Oh. Hi mom."

"Hello sweetheart," Snow replies.

Regina watches in horror as Emma then slides into the room to sit on the floor with the children. Her fury wasn't an invitation for Emma to bond or start a _conversation_ with her mother. She wants Snow out. Now.

"What are we learning about?"

Snow beams. "Ogres."

"Why?"

Regina almost laughs at the way Snow's face falls. Almost.

"They are a menace to society, Emma," Snow states with all the seriousness of a heart attack. Regina rolls her eyes.

"Weren't they banished like a hundred years ago?" At her mother's silent, surprised stare, Emma glances over at Regina and asks, "Why does the fact I read seem to surprise everyone? Do I just look that stupid?"

"Don't be silly," Snow chides, leaning over to pat her knee in reassurance.

"Agreed," Regina drawls. "Your parents are the ones who look stupid, dear. You're an unfortunate victim of genetic assumption."

Snow scoffs. "That is offensive, Regina. I am offended."

"You're offended?" She counters in mock outrage, and maybe a tad seriousness of her own. "I have to put up with you, on a daily basis! You're my enemy!"

Voice taking on a timber one can only describe as guttural, Snow counters, "I'm batman," before erupting into giggles.

The snickering begins almost immediately before the choking starts, then Emma is laughing along with her birdbrained mother and Regina is just plain _done_ with them both.

She is _not_ the Joker.

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she turns abruptly and leaves the ignoramuses to their own amusement. Grumbling to herself, she stalks down the hall towards the war room. It isn't her library, but at least there she's surrounded by mementos of her past exploits in battle that will better help her to imagine all the ways she _could_ violently maim Snow White if not for the fact she's in love with the woman's heart-wrenchingly beautiful daughter.

A daughter who, she'd delighted in discovering, could possibly join her and add to those wonderful thoughts with a few nice, sadistic ideas of her own. If only she weren't currently busy indulging her mother's terrible sense of humour.

Pushing through the door into the room, Regina sighs softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her efforts to resist it. She can still hear Emma's laughter in her ears and although she generally prefers to be the one who causes it, she cannot deny the effect it has on her regardless of its source.

By the time she's taken her seat at the table, her emotions are in such conflict, she can't help but drop her head into her hands and groan. Apart, the things she feels are bearable but together? Annoyed, amused and deeply in love are _not_ things that combine well.

This is how Emma finds her a few minutes later; bent over the table, fingers running through her hair as if ruining her carefully put together appearance will somehow sort everything out for her.

"You alright?" She grunts again, slightly more frustrated than before as Emma rounds the table to get closer to her. "What's wrong?"

She's tempted to respond with _everything_ , but even she isn't that dramatic.

"I've recently come to the conclusion that I cannot love you and hate your mother at the same time," she mumbles, body relaxing beneath the hand Emma runs down her spine. "I'm trying to decide which of the two makes me happier before I decide what to give up."

"Loving me means lots of hot, sweaty sex," Emma supplies amusingly. "A warm body to wrap around you during these cold, cold nights," she continues. Regina closes her eyes as she listens, her smile growing with every word. "Morning kisses— all day kisses, really. Some slow and sweet, others hard and hungry…"

A nose presses behind her ear, lips on her neck as Emma molds against her back and wraps both arms around her. "I like holding you, kissing you— loving and _fucking_ you." Regina shivers, amusement and desire coalescing into a sound that sticks in her throat. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you? Deprive my poor little heart of loving you… I have a lot of love for you, my Queen."

 _Sap_.

Emma tries so hard to spare her sometimes, but when she doesn't…

"You've delved deep into that void of nauseating babble this time, my love."

"It gets so much worse," Emma whispers in warning. She sounds so positively horrified by the fact that Regina chuckles deeply as Emma kisses the back of her neck and murmurs, "Better hurry up and choose me before I lose control of it."

Sobering suddenly, Regina straightens. "I love you," she says. She doesn't know why. Maybe whatever it is that has Emma spouting her nonsense is contagious but whatever the reason, she _needs_ her to understand this. "I chose you the minute you crashed into my life with that awfully adorable smile."

"Of course you did." She grins, tilting her head back to witness that cocky arrogance manifest on Emma's gorgeous face. "I _am_ your True Love," Emma reasons before she captures her mouth in a kiss that muffles her laughter.

Sensing the familiar presence that has just arrived outside the door, Regina decides Morgan can wait a few more minutes. Winding an arm up over her shoulder, she clasps the back of Emma's neck and deepens the kiss, a content hum vibrating in her throat as the arms around her squeeze their appreciation.

It isn't long before the kiss turns heated and verges into something not quite inappropriate but requiring time neither of them have. Knowing this, Regina slowly, reluctantly, eases away from the delectable mouth and nips the lower lip that protrudes instantly in protest.

"Morgan is outside," she explains, chuckling as the pout only seems to deepen. She kisses it, fingers sliding from around Emma's neck, to her cheek. Languid and sweet, Regina caresses her jaw when they part a second time. "Go and let her in, you nuisance."

Emma grins and pecks her on the mouth once more before she stands and crosses the room. Regina smiles as she throws open the door with enough force to startle Morgan who glares at them both for it. From a woman who has made grown men wet themselves in fear with less, Regina notes, her attempt at ire barely warrants the term 'half-hearted' and is over almost before she can make the comparison as their eyes meet and Morgan grins.

"Don't start."

"Start?" Morgan echoes, smoothly falling into the seat on her left. "My Queen, what ever do you mean?"

"I know you, dear." She may have been half-crazed while they were together, but not any more. She remembers the comments, the teasing— the ample tricks her former Captain played on her to amuse herself. "When it comes to mischief, you are an opportunistic scoundrel."

Looking at Emma as she takes the seat on Regina's right, Morgan says, "You would think knowing that, she'd let me. Does she ruin your fun as much as she does mine?"

Emma smirks. "Sometimes." Regina kicks her beneath the table and she jerks, laughing as she corrects, "I mean no, never."

"Why do I put up with you two again?"

"Because you love us," they answer in unison.

She stares, head shaking a moment later. The words, the inflection, the expression; all exact. They're right, of course, but— "That is just creepy." Both grin, their gazes knowing. "Stop it."

"Yes, my Queen."

Their tones bring about flashbacks to the night in Storybrooke when Emma convinced her to watch Children of the Damned. She shudders at the memory. That was the last time she let Emma pick the movie.

"I regret letting you meet each other."

"Told you," Emma says smugly.

"You did," Morgan replies as she starts to laugh.

Regina scowls. She'd known they were playing with her the second they started, but that they so brazenly admit to it? In front of her? It's as though they want to know what being set on fire feels like.

As the minutes tick by and their amusement wanes, her scowl remains while the silence stretches uncomfortably between them. Emma breaks through it with the clearing of her throat, not half as stubborn as she or Morgan can be.

"As deserving as we are of the silent treatment," Emma concedes, smiling softly at her. "You did kinda ask her to meet us for a reason… something about a pendant belonging to your mother?"

Attention drawn to Morgan's sudden shift in her seat, Regina catches the flicker of something— surprise maybe –in her eyes and raises a brow, interest piqued. Emma was right about one thing when it comes to her soul mate; Morgan sucks at secret. "Something you'd like to share?"

Face blank, Morgan replies, "That depends on what exactly about the pendant you want to know."

"Know," Regina repeats. "I wish to know nothing other than where it is? Rumple has requested it as his price for assisting me. Do you intend to deny me what is rightfully mine?"

Morgan swallows visibly, face paling considerably at the anger hidden in her voice. "Not— not intentionally, my Queen." She takes a breath, lashes fluttering as she slumps and admits, "I don't… I don't have it anymore."

Eyes rolling, Regina drawls, "Then who does?" She will tear it from around their cold, dead necks if that's what it takes. "Who did you give it to?"

Sighing, Morgan drags a hand down her face, then stands. Abrupt as it is, Regina finds herself standing with her, ready to stop her should she try and leave without first providing an answer.

She needn't have worried as Morgan looks at her and says, "I think it might be better if I show you." She nods, uncurling the hand at her side. "We'll need that," Morgan informs her before the magic dissipates entirely. "Unless you'd rather walk to my cozy little cabin in the woods."

"In these boots? No thank you." Holding out both of her hands, she waits until Emma stands and they both grab one before she transports them to the small clearing where the cabin lies surrounded by dense woods. "Now what?"

Letting go of her hand, Morgan gestures to the cabin and says, "Now… you can see for yourself."

When she makes no move to lead the way, Regina hums thoughtfully. Anyone else and she'd think they were leading her into a trap but she trusts Morgan— even if it is a Morgan who apparently keeps secrets from her now.  "Very well."

Deciding Emma will be coming with her whether she wants to or not, she tightens her grip on the hand still in hers and drags Emma along behind her as she moves toward the cabin.

To be fair, there isn't much dragging needing to be done as Emma willingly follows, but she does stop them before Regina reaches the door. "Should we, maybe, have some kind of plan… or weapon… something?"

"No," she replies. "I trust—"

The door swings open and she sucks in a breath, eyes growing wide as the words fail her and all she can do is stare at the man in front of her. The pendant is right there against his chest, one yank all it would take to have it in her hand but in comparison, it barely registers to her sluggish mind.

She thinks she might be dreaming at first, but then he smiles and she gasps, "Daddy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hum. I considered doing this differently but... nah.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not accustomed to writing Henry Senior. He will seem off, it's not entirely on purpose but I did kind of want to write him as someone less... I don't want to say cowardly or submissive, but they're kind of the only words coming to me at the moment so-- that, but imagine me sounding like less of a judgmental dick about it.

"Uh."

That's as far as Emma gets before Regina is whipping around and hurling herself down the stairs back to where Morgan stands. She doesn't follow her. Having seen her expression as Regina blew passed, she does brace herself for the shouting though and almost manages not to flinch when it starts.

_"What the hell did you do?!"_

The man she presumably knows only as "Daddy" at this point simply turns his smile on her, seemingly as unaffected by his daughter's desire to yell at someone rather than maybe embrace one of the few people she cares about after thinking he were dead for all this time.

"So," she says, clearing her throat as she tries to smile back. It's _weird_. "Hi, I'm Emma."

He chuckles. "Nice to meet you, Emma." He holds out his hand and she shakes it. "I'm sure you've gathered from my daughter's… quick introduction, but I'm her father, Henry."

"I know," she blurts, then inwardly groans. "I mean, your name. I— we have a kid. Regina named him after you." When he looks around, she assumes in search of his grandson, she quickly explains, "We didn't bring him with us. Morgan didn't really tell us about you— I'm sure you'll get to meet him when Regina is um… finished."

He smiles at her again and it's _extra_ weird. She barely knows the man and she already understands what all the fuss is about. He radiates a kind of warmth that has only recently become familiar to her when in the presence of her mother, and she twitches at the thought. If Regina ever heard her comparing the two, she's certain she'll be the one facing time in the dungeon rather than Morgan.

"So," she repeats, drawing it out this time. "You're alive." His rumbling, boisterous laugh reminds her of David and that warmth magnifies, comfort and embarrassment in one. She flushes. "Sorry, I have a tendency to say stupid things when I'm nervous. Regina says it's genetic and I can't help myself."

"It's true," Regina agrees. Emma spins and breathes a sigh in relief when she sees her walking back towards them, Morgan a few steps behind her. "It is one of the many things I love about you, and absolutely despise about Snow White."

Climbing the stairs, she breezes passed Emma and straight into the arms of her father. "Hello daddy," she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek before burying her head against his shoulder.

"Princesa," he murmurs, embracing her fully.

Hearing her quiet sob, Emma's heart aches. She pulls at her lower lip with teeth, considering, before she makes a decision and takes a step back, turning.

"Emma?" She glances over her shoulder at Henry. "Is something wrong?"

She smiles, touched by his concern. "No, just wanted to give you both some time alone. Morgan will entertain me," she says, facing forward to stare at the woman in question. "Won't you Morgan?"

"Yes, Majesty." She scowls, barely restraining herself from punching her. Morgan grins like she knows, then offers with feigned contrition, "Sorry, I meant to say Captain."

"Sure you did," Emma mutters, making her way down the stairs.

"Emma."

Her foot hovers above the last as she turns again and finds chestnut eyes and their reddening rims peering back at her. "Thank you."

She smiles wider this time, not needing to ask as she replies, "You're welcome." She raises a hand and wiggles her fingers. Regina reaches for the glowing ball that appears, her own smile almost as bright as the magic she now cradles in her hand. "Love you."

"And I, you."

Blowing her a kiss just to hear her chuckle, she catches Henry's gaze again and blushes. That smile and the fond look in his eyes, like he appreciates her— like he already knows she does her best to make his daughter happy even though he knows nothing at all about her means… everything.

She doesn't know what she expected. She never thought she'd get to meet the man, and now that she has, she's at a loss. Regina always said he was sweet, insisted she would like him and he her. It felt like she'd missed something special when Regina spoke of him.

Meeting him, seeing him— if their brief interaction today is any indication of what's to come in future, then she knows Regina will have been right. She has her reservations, knowing some of the things Regina went through despite his presence in her life, but if he loves her half as much as she's always thought Regina does him then she is more than willing to give him a chance.

"I'll just…" She hooks a thumb over her shoulder, lopsided grin emerging. "Nice to meet you. Maybe now Regina will shut up—" She's turning away as she speaks, despite knowing better, and yelps when a sudden gust of wind catapults her off of the last step. "Rude!"

"Go away, nuisance."

"Fine." She pivots dramatically and grabs Morgan by the arm. "Morgan and I are running away together and we're not coming back."

Yanked from her statuesque pose, Morgan stumbles forward before trying to protest, "Do I not get a say in th—"

"Nope."

 

.

.

.

 

"They are like children."

Regina smiles at the sound of his voice. She had the same thought before he spoke. "Yes," she agrees, eyes following the two most important women in her life as they wander off, playfully shoving one another and bickering loud enough to be audible but not understood.

As they disappear into the surrounding forest together, she sighs and raises her head from his shoulder. Her hand rests against his chest before she raises it too, fingers brushing over the bright blue jewel inside the pendant.

"This is why you're here?" She nods. "Are you in trouble?"

"Morgan tells me it is part of what is keeping you alive," she says, pulling from his embrace. "There is no trouble, but even if there were, I would find another way to deal with it." She looks into his eyes when she adds, "I will not make the same mistake twice."

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. It brings back memories of her childhood when she would say or do something he did not approve of. Unlike her mother, however, he never said or did anything to stop her. He accepted her for who she was and allowed her to make her own mistakes.

Hearing that sound makes her smile.

"Let us not dwell on such things, hmm?"

She averts her gaze. How can she not? He suffered because she loved him. He wasn't enough, and she killed him for it. "I killed you."

"You failed." Her gaze snaps back to him in confusion as he takes back her hand and presses it firmly against his chest.

Her breath hitches, surprised to feel the steady thump of a heart beneath her palm. She stares at her hand in wonder. "How? I removed it," she whispers, eyes flicking up to his. "I crushed it. I… I watched the ashes slip—"

He shushes her, drawing her back to him and back into his warm embrace. "It may not be mine, but it still beats the same."

A lump forms in her throat as realization dawns and she breathes, "Morgan."

"Morgan," he confirms with a kiss to her temple. "She tried to explain it to me once. Unfortunately, doddering old fool that I am, I didn't understand much of it and she gave up after a while."

"But you have her heart?"

"Most of it," he replies. "She says she kept a part for herself. I suspect it might be the part she reserved for you, though she refuses to admit it any time I bring it up."

"No," she denies.

She knows, without a doubt, he's wrong. What little remains of Morgan's heart in her chest, she knows with utmost certainty doesn't belong to her. Morgan knew she would understand the moment she learned of what she'd done. The knowledge is in the sacrifice itself; Morgan brought back the one person above all that she knew her Queen would regret killing.

"Her love for me is inside of you."

"Hmmm."

"What is it?" It's been a while, but she knows that sound as well as any other that comes from him. "If you're thinking something Morgan would say, I beg you not to tell me. I don't need three of you."

His mouth widens in a grin but he shakes his head and kisses her forehead. "No, Princesa. All this talk of love though… I wonder of Emma. Who is she?"

Unable to stop herself if she tried, she feels her mouth twist and she looks down to her side where her other hand hangs, the ball of light clinging desperately to the tips of her fingers. She chuckles and brings it up so that it is level with their faces. "Emma is this," she says, the soothing ebb of comfort, affection and overwhelming love a continuous stream flowing deep beneath her skin and warming her from the inside out.

He brings his own hand up and she nods at his raised brow. His eyes widen the second his fingers touch the magic and she bites her lip in amusement at all the varying expressions to cross his face.

"She loves me."

In truth, the words don't do Emma's feelings justice. She still doesn't understand _how_ Emma made her feelings manifest like this, or how she manipulated her own magic to do the same but she does know that that is precisely what Emma has done. She has attempted to do it herself, and failed repeatedly until she'd conceded that only with Emma might she do it again.

She continuously forgets to ask as seemingly more important things crop up for her to deal with, but one day.

"That is…" He drops his hand back to his side and blows out a breath. "That is certainly something, but love? My dear, that is far beyond such a trivial thing."

Her cheeks grow warm with his knowing look and she confesses quietly, "True love, Daddy."

"Ah!" Grasping the hand still held to his chest, he raises it to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, a twinkle in his eyes. She knows that look. She has seen that look many times on a face with no compare. "Why didn't you say that to begin with?"

"Because you already knew," she grumbles, eyes rolling before a finger flicks her nose and she lets out a surprised laugh. He hasn't done that in— _gods_ , it's been over five decades. "I suddenly feel very old."

"Nonsense," he argues, "you don't look a day over ten."

"Daddy." She forgot how silly he could be.

"Oh alright. Twenty then."

"Better," she admits, head shaking as she grins.

He nods. "Twenty five, tops."

She has missed this— missed him. That she has him back doesn't truly hit her until this moment. She has cried a thousand times for what she thought she'd done to him, and for this, she will cry a thousand more.

As the tears finally begin to fall, his smile grows impossibly soft in understanding and even as he again offers her a comfort she has only ever found in his arms, he quietly chides her.

"Princesa, I thought we agreed not to dwell?"

She sniffs, head shaking in the crook of his shoulder as she denies, "You suggested. I made no such agreement."

His chest rumbles with his laughter and his arms tighten around her. "At least come inside. You're going to put your back out if you have to keep bending down like this. That happens to people your age, you know."

She gasps, laughing wetly as she straightens and glances down at her boots. With them, she towers over him by at least four inches. Now that he mentions it, her back _is_ starting to ache a little. Rather than agree though, she returns his gaze and murmurs, "I think having her heart might be turning you into her."

He nods, grinning as he steps back and gestures her inside. "Wonderful, isn't it?"

"That's certainly one word for it," she drawls, ducking in through the door and looking around.

Seeing evidence of his life scattered throughout the room, she pauses in the middle of it. It is one thing to know, but to _see_. The coat draped across a chair, the numerous books littered around the room, the pitcher she knows that were she to raise to her nose would smell of spiced, honey mead; it is all too much. He has lived without her for almost thirty years while she was cursed, living day in and day out thinking she'd killed him, living with the guilt and regret— the _loss_ she'd never been able accept.

There is grief, but also anger. At him. At Morgan.

Spinning, her voice shakes with both as she questions, "Why didn't she tell me sooner? Why didn't you come to me when you knew— I have been here for months!"

He shuffles forward, again taking her in his arms. She struggles briefly in confusion but she is incapable of denying the safety she feels, that he offers. He has changed. They both have. Never would he have dared with the old her. She would have sooner roasted him than submit to this weakness, forever convinced in her crazed mind that she had no need for pithy things like comfort and affection.

The new her, the person she has become, soft but also strong because of the love she has given and received since adopting her son, since meeting Emma and falling—oh how she had fallen only to be caught and cradled.

Staring over his shoulder at the ball still in her hand, she wishes urgently for Emma's return as she gives into the warm comfort of the hand her father uses to stroke her back.

"Why," she asks, more plea than demand as she buries her face in his neck.

He kisses the side of her head. "I needed to know it was safe before she told you," he explains. "Not a day has passed since I learned of your return that I haven't yearned to see you, but I could not be so selfish."

"Selfish," she repeats, confused.

"My life was not the only one at risk had I come to you," he says as she raises her head and looks him in the eyes. He smiles, cupping her cheek. "Morgan and I, we are bound. I may not understand the complexities of the ritual she performed that day, but I do understand that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may take a few days break from writing this, muse willing, so I don't burn myself out.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 hours is a break, right?

Walking through the forest with her, there is only one thought on Emma's mind. Well—two, but she assumes the second will be answered once they return to the cabin and Regina has had time to talk to her father without them hovering in the shadows. They haven't spoken much, instead choosing to enjoy the extremely varied scenery of tree after tree, after tree.

"Did you really kill Cora?"

She kind of just… blurts the question out there with no regard for tact, but Morgan answers her anyway because apparently she's used to it by now. "Yes."

Simple. Precise. It's a good answer. Still. "Why?"

Morgan shrugs and seems unbothered by the topic, like maybe they're merely discussing the weather and she's perfectly indifferent to it but willing to indulge her. "Why does anyone kill their captor?

"Captor? You were trying to escape from her?"

"No," she says with an amused huff. "I was trying to distract you."

Huh. So maybe she is a little bothered by it, Emma thinks. "Why?"

"You should be talking to Regina about this," Morgan replies, peering at her from the corner of her eye.

"But you killed her," Emma counters. In her experience, it's generally the killer you asked questions, not— whoever else happens to know the story, despite what the media back in her world might have wanted her to believe. They claimed to want the truth, then went and harassed the serial killers mother, asking her why _she_ thinks he did it rather than ask the guy sitting on death row.

Idiots.

Morgan stops walking and turns to her as she says, "You know who I am. You know the things I did for her even if you don't want to believe them."

Emma frowns. Yes, she knows. She knows all about the Black Knight. Truth be told, she knows of little else when it comes to this world and everything she could learn, if she put her mind to it. She was curious, and she'd sated that curiosity by listening when people wanted to humour her. "I believe them."

Staring at her, Morgan tilts her head thoughtfully. She nods after a moment. "Then you have your answer."

"But—"

She waves her hand dismissively and resumes walking. Emma quickly follows, falling back into step. "Cora was a terrible person," Morgan says. "I have never lied about who I am. What kind of monster, do you suppose, would a person have to be for me to say that about them? She wasn't naïve and self-righteous like your mother. She wasn't ignorant like your father. She was a miller's daughter. She was treated like a miller's daughter. She didn't like it. She wanted revenge on those she believed had wronged her, and when she didn't get it, she used her own daughter to make up for her shortcomings."

Emma nods. She hadn't known the exact details. Getting Regina to share anything about her past that hadn't immediately pertained to the curse was a lot like pulling teeth. She couldn't be bothered.

"Regina didn't want Cora trying to follow her once she'd cast the curse," Morgan continues. "I provided a solution to a problem, nothing more."

Given the stories, Emma _did_ believe that. If there is one thing people repeatedly beat her over the head with, it was how loyal Morgan was to her Queen. She doesn't, however, believe that that is all there was to it. The addition of 'nothing more' tells her that much. "Really?"

"You think I did it out of love."

Yes. "It occurs to me."

"I didn't," Morgan assures her. "I am no hero, Swan, the only emotion that drives my blade is anger. I didn't do it to win the hand of the fair maiden, much as the thought amuses me. I imagine I would have suffered a similar fate had I the gall to even suggest it."

"But you did lie," Emma says. Morgan stops again, though this time it's with a sigh. "There is more, isn't there?"

"You are like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"

She grins. "It's been said."

"Yes, there is more," Morgan admits, head shaking. She glances around before finding a fallen tree that she then sits down on. When Emma joins her, she continues, "I was doing my duty, but in this— I took a certain pleasure in it. Cora _was_ my captor once, she wanted to know why her daughter was interested in me. When she found out I was Regina's soul mate, she thought to use the information to worm her way back into Regina's life."

Emma nods. Piecing together what little she does know of Cora, including the many instances in which Regina has avoided mention of her, she knows that whatever made the woman such a terrible person was likely worse than the things she'd imagined so far. She could probably relate, to a degree, given how shitty her own childhood and the many so-called parents she'd had.

"What happened?"

"She failed, and I paid the price." Again, Morgan shrugs, as though she's used to it. "I remained with Cora for years, earned what little trust she were capable of giving, and wormed my way into hers instead." She smirks. "By the time she figured out what I was doing, Regina was already walking through the portal I'd opened in the middle of her throne room."

"She came for you?" Emma grins. Not love, her ass.

"Yes. Cora had whisked me away in the middle of the night, right from the Queen's very own bed." As if sensing her thought, Morgan holds her gaze when she adds, "She'd come to reclaim what was rightfully hers."

"You make it sound like you were a possession."

She inclines her head. "I told you our love was different," she reminds her, smiling softly. "My blood _sang_ when she growled those words to her mother. After all that time away, she still wanted me. To be the Queen's possession was, and remains, an honour."

The words rankle Emma a little but the minor flash of jealousy she feels is nothing compared to the sense of satisfaction she gets from the reminder of what Morgan represents. She has never met anyone more loyal to another, let alone anyone besides herself who is loyal to Regina. Perhaps she wasn't wrong after all. Perhaps a soul mate in this world is exactly what she thought it was.

She can read between the lines. Whoever Cora was, whatever she did to Regina, or to Morgan, she got exactly what she deserved in the end. "I don't think I've ever said it before, but I'm glad she had you back then, and now."

"You never needed to," Morgan dismisses casually. "I was there that day in the tavern, you know."

She was? Emma hadn't seen her but given the situation at the time, she'd had two glorious, mouth-watering reasons in her face to excuse her lack of attention. Warmth in her cheeks, she clears her throat and says, "You were?"

"When she broke that man's hand," Morgan says. Her face darkens momentarily and Emma mirrors the expression in understanding. "I saw the way you looked at her. If I did not think you were someone who would appreciate my devotion to her, I would never have told you.

When she doesn't say anything, Morgan muses, "You like to play the jealous lover from time to time, but you and I are far more alike than either of you realize. You would do anything for her— accept anything _from_ her, just as I would…"

Emma can't deny it. It is something she'd begun to understand of herself long before this conversation, before the conversation with her mother when she'd admitted she would have tried to adjust. It had nothing to do with the new world and wanting to please everyone. It was because of Regina. It always would be because of Regina.

"You don't like the thought of sharing, but you would, if it's what she wanted." Drawn from her thoughts by those words, she scowls. Morgan says, "She doesn't, if that worries you."

It didn't. After their time together when she'd held Regina's emotions in her hand, she hadn't doubted her, not once. But she'd felt that love, soaked it in as it burrowed into her veins and threatened to devour her whole from the inside. That doesn't tell her how Morgan knows, so she asks, "How do you know?"

"After everything you have learned, you honestly think I didn't try something when she came back?"

The jealousy and anger is there but neither are anywhere near as strong as Emma thought they'd be. She's more bewildered than anything. There was no reason for Morgan to tell her. She could have gone the rest of her life not knowing, and not needing to know. Regina obviously chose her, so why tell her?

"You did?"

"Mmm. She slapped me for daring then told me, in no uncertain terms, that you are and would always be the only person she would ever want or need."

Ah. That would be why. Emma looks away with a grin.

"This was before I learned you broke the curse by _kissing_ her, you understand. I wouldn't have had I known."

She nods, her grin fading as she sighs. "I won't lie, I kind of want to hit you for it but I get it." She might have done the same if their positions were reversed. Regina is worth a slap or two, or a dozen. "It can't be easy seeing her every day, loving her and knowing she isn't the same person."

Morgan smiles, the relief she feels showing in the way her shoulders drop. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in hands as she stares out into the forest. Emma watches her, willing herself to find something else to talk about— something lighter to stop the silence from enveloping them.

She thinks she's found it before it can get too awkward. "I have to ask…"

An amused puff precedes the question, "Do you?"

The real answer is no, but if she doesn't ask, she'll just keep thinking about it and driving herself crazy with not knowing so— "I really do."

"Go on then."

"Amanda and Tinkerbelle?"

"She prefers Tink, if you're ever interested in getting to know her as more than a bed warmer of your true love's soul mate." Emma rolls her eyes at the teasing tone and Morgan chuckles. "She and I were… involved for a while before we met Amanda. Amanda had lost her husband shortly before— some dispute from weeks earlier that I didn't learn of until it was too late. She was just… standing there in the market, looking lost and on the verge of breaking down right there. I couldn't tell you why, but I wanted to comfort her… Tink encouraged me. Turned out, she'd just found out she was pregnant and didn't know what to do."

Morgan laughs on seeing her expression, the thought running through her mind clear on her face. "We didn't suddenly start sleeping with her." She explains, "We were friends for years before we did any of that. Tink and I… fell for her around the same time. I never lied to either of them. What I feel for them is more than I ever imagined, but when it comes to my Queen…"

"You had to try."

"Yes, and now I know," she says, leveling her with a look that screams _don't you dare think it_ before she admits, "As do they."

The grin returns unbidden and Emma teases, "And they still want you, huh?"

Morgan smirks. "Like you, if her mood lately is any indication, I'm very good in bed."

Emma laughs. "Uh huh."

Morgan is in the process of trying to push her from the fallen tree they're on when Emma catches a glimpse of light through the trees. A familiar tingling spreads through her and she quickly stands, plucking the ball from the air just as it shoots straight over her head.

"Regina?" Morgan guesses, rising beside her.

She hums, struck mute by the sheer _yearning_ she feels emanating from her magic. From the heat of it, she knows Regina has somehow fused their magic together before she'd sent it back to her. Shaking the fuzziness from her mind, she clenches her fist the same way she always does when dismissing her magic.

Her knees instantly buckle but Morgan's quick reflexes stop her from crashing to the forest floor. "You alright?"

"That depends," she croaks, "on your definition of alright."

Unharmed? Certainly. Capable of functioning in a way that might be even relatively helpful to anyone? Not so much. If she didn't know better, she'd think Regina purposely booby trapped her own magic. The yearning was one thing; a message telling her to come back. The explosion of lust when reabsorbing her magic, though? That was a hundred different levels of cruel.

"If I let go, will you be able to stand?"

She blinks down at her feet, then back up at Morgan. "Maybe?"

 

.

.

.

 

When Emma stumbles from the trees and into the clearing, Regina grins. She had just finished telling her father how the two of them met when he decided they needed tea and wandered off to prepare it. It was an excuse, one she'd appreciated as it gave her time to compose herself after she remembered that night and what had followed their meeting. Her father didn't need to know what had come next, but her body reveled in the memories that came to her after.

Naturally, she blamed Emma. Who else could she blame? It was Emma who'd seduced her with that coy smile, Emma who gave her such a delicious night to reminisce on at the most inopportune times. If she had to suffer, then why not share the torture with the one who caused it?

"Hello, my love," she purrs as they draw closer to her.

Emma glares at her. "Don't you hello my love me." Regina allows her gaze to roam Emma's physique as she stands before her, hands on hips. She'd laugh if Emma's irritation didn't come in such an attractive pose. "Stop that."

She licks her lips, eyes flicking up from where they'd landed on those wonderfully skilled hands. "Stop what, dearest?"

"Objectifying me, you perverted old witch."

Laughing, she rises from her perch on the step and walks the short distance between them. "Or what," she challenges, leaning in. "We both know how easily you turn to putty in my hands."

Eyes narrowing, Emma meets her challenge and retorts, "No easier than you turn into a quivering mess beneath my mouth."

Regina hums, pleased with the imagery the words create in her mind. "Oh the things I would like to do to you, _Miss Swan._ "

Realization flashing in those eyes, Emma's mouth quirks with her grin. She moves even closer, their faces barely an inch apart when she tilts herself forward. "Oh the things I would _let_ you do to me," she husks, " _Regina_."

Why her name said in that tone turns her on so, Regina fears she'll never know. "Father asked me how we met."

"Oh?" Emma replies, rocking back on the balls of her feet. "Is that why he isn't here? You shared all the sordid details with him and he decided he'd rather have a heart attack than listen to what an awful, torturous little trollop his daughter has become?"

"I was making tea, actually."

Emma's head snaps up, cheeks instantly pink. Regina stares at her, wide eyed, completely unwilling to turn and face her father knowing he'd heard _that_.

"Even I couldn't have timed that better," Morgan says, sauntering passed them. "Well done, Henry."

"Shall I get used to this now, or might I be spared such things in future?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. This is a first for me as well," Morgan replies. "Although… there was inauguration night," she recalls loudly for the two of them. Regina assumes her father silently asked for an explanation when Morgan adds, "Regina had a bit too much to drink," and he interrupts.

"Ah. Say no more."

Flushing even more deeply than Emma, Regina can longer look at her thanks to the grin slowly spreading across Emma's face. She can't help that she's _handsy_ when she's drunk. As the Evil Queen, she'd had plenty of reasons to _be_ drunk. It is hardly her fault her father has the worst timing.

"I feel a little less special now," Emma murmurs, erasing that last inch to take Regina into her arms. She lowers her voice to a whisper, "You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"I'm going to kill you for that later," Regina whispers back, gripping the back of her jacket.

"Do I at least get a last request?"

Regina considers the question quietly. The impishness in Emma's tone piques her curiosity. It could be something to embarrass her further in front of her father and Morgan, or it could be something thoroughly inappropriate, of which she is a genuine fan.

"That depends," she hedges.

Emma hums, purring when she says, "I promise you'll enjoy it."

"Well…" In that case, she's all ears. "Do tell."

"Promise you'll take me out with a smile?"

She groans into Emma's shoulder. Sappy. She forgot sappy.

"Not what I meant," Emma singsongs, then shifts against her. "I'm not that vomit inducing."

"Says y—oh." Regina swallows, mouth drying when the buckle of Emma's belt presses against a rather intimate part of her body. "Oh." _That_ kind of smile. She was being inappropriate after all. Her throat rumbles in pleasure. "I think I can manage that."

Pulling away, Emma winks before she slips passed her, purposely brushing against her. "Henry," she greets her father.

"Emma. Tea?"

Regina hears the grin in her voice when she counters, "Got anything stronger?" And groans much louder at the images those particular words conjure to mind.

She is most certainly going to kill her, in the exact way Emma requested.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I will take that break one day.

The kid she gave up for adoption finding her ten years later, the roommate turned mother, coma patient turned father turned Snow White and Prince Charming, curses and magic, evil queens; Emma has accepted— tolerated— not completely lost her shit over _a_ _lot_ , but heart splitting? Really? Like, just, ripping out your heart and snapping it in half as if it was the last cracker shared between two people?

What in the actual living fuck? Where did a person draw the line? _Could_ a line be drawn, or is she simply going to go the rest of her life learning about the absurd and then somehow finding a way to live with the fact the bat shit insane isn't only bat shit insane, but also possible?

Regina, Morgan, Henry; they continue talking like it's the easiest thing in the world to believe, like any of this is _normal_ while she's still trying to process the fact Morgan broke her heart in two, on purpose, and now the father of her soul mate is walking around with half of it beating inside of him.

How does that even work?

How did Morgan not end up just crushing her own heart? Emma isn't a doctor or heart-crushing expert, but surely putting any sort of pressure on it was a bad idea? How did they even take it out to begin with without killing themselves?

Is she the only one who wants to know these things?

Shaking herself from the thoughts, she tunes back into the conversation still going on around her. Somehow, Regina has gotten on to the topic of their son. Emma doesn't even want to know how _that_ happened, but it does tell her the answer to her question is a very obvious _yes_ and—

_Okay then._

Needing some air, or escape, or _something_ she can't quite put her finger on because _hearts_ , she stands and ignores the gazes that immediately fall on her as she turns and leaves the cabin. She doesn't go far, and the air does help a little. It's not enough to clear her head or even make anything resembling sense of the situation, but she feels slightly more calm and grounded than she did inside.

Quiet and sneaky, Regina sidles up beside her after only a few minutes by herself. When Emma side-eyes her, she says, "I know not to leave you to your own devices when you have that look on your face. What threw you?"

Rather than answer, Emma asks, "What look?"

"The _you're all fucking crazy_ look."

She smirks. She didn't know she had a look for that but as far as accuracy goes, it's pretty damn accurate. "Why does that bother you? You _are_ all fucking crazy."

Snorting, Regina replies, "Yes, but it doesn't generally send you running from the room."

Emma shrugs. That was true but most of the crazy could be ignored, or dismissed via semi-logical, to her brain at least, explanations that might not be true but make enough sense to her that she didn't really give a shit if they weren't. She could dismiss this too with _magic is magic_ because it is and she has a feeling if she asked anyone to explain magic, she'd be in for a very long, very boring discussion she'd quickly realize she had neither the interest nor the patience for but this nonsense with hearts is just too ludicrous to wrap her head around and it's bugging her.

"How do you remove a heart?"

"Magic."

She groans, "I _knew_ you were going to say that."

"What else would I say?"

With a frustrated huff, she admits, "I don't know, but aren't you curious?"

"Not particularly. I learned enough about magic to cover what I needed, anything beyond that I considered unnecessary." Regina studies her, head tilted as she says, "I know that I have magic and that, with it, I can do almost anything I want, why would I question it?"

Emma stares. She never thought she'd hear those sort of words come out of _that_ mouth. Regina is one of, if not the _most_ intelligent person Emma knows. That she even has to ask is— it's downright _alien_ , is what it is. "To _understand_ ," she stresses.

"No offense, dear," Regina chuckles, "but that is as harebrained as someone trying to understand the meaning of life. The chances of us understanding either before we die are so infinitely small that to attempt to do so is nothing more than a waste of time. Any understanding we believe we've gained is merely a guess. Why bother?"

"That is…" She doesn't even know _what_ that is.

"I believe the word you're looking for is sensible, dearest." Regina raises a brow, daring her to voice the protest on the tip of her tongue. She doesn't. "If you'd like to spend the night theorizing, I'd be more than willing to indulge you but that is all it would be; theories. Spare yourself the headache and accept that this, like many things in life, is not something you can explain."

"But what if you can?" she argues. "What if someone out there dedicated their life to magic? Someone must know why it exists. Sure, life could have any number of meanings and trying to understand that is probably a huge waste of time but magic? It's amazing, and wonderful, and not _normal_. Life is life, everyone has one, and their interest in the hows and whys is varied, but magic is _unexplainable_? Science _exists_ to explain the unexplainable, there's gotta be some nerd out there somewhere doing the same thing with magic."

Regina sighs before capturing her hand. She weaves their fingers together, pulling her arm up. Emma slips it over her shoulder and around her neck, confused but smiling as Regina rolls into her, their chests pressed tight together. "Let me put it this way," she purrs, breath warm against her mouth. "When we go home tonight, would you rather spend the rest of it questioning Whale on how he understands magic, or would you rather spend it in bed with me?"

If her brain hasn't already short-circuited from the questions, then it sure as hell does then. Nothing in this world or any other exists that she would choose over being in bed with Regina. What the hell kind of question was that?

Dark lips quirk in a grin and it grows the longer her silence stretches on. She couldn't say how many minutes pass before another chuckle caresses her ears, this one teasing, throated and knowing all at once.

"The point, my love," Regina murmurs, dragging her lower lip over Emma's own. "Is that you should ask yourself; who understands life better? The one who lives it, or the one who buries their head in books and spends theirs questioning reason, asking for and studying answers given by those too busy _enjoying_ life to stop and ask themselves _why_ or _how_?"

At her continued silence, Regina's shoulders rise in a shrug. "Perhaps there is a reason. A specific combination of chemicals in our bodies, or genetic mutation," she suggests. Emma nods. "Who knows, perhaps it was simply _written_ somewhere. Maybe we are merely a story whose author decided to include the absurd. Whatever the reason, assuming there is one, I would much rather spend my life experiencing all its wonders than ponder upon an answer that may not even exist."

Head shaking, Emma says, "I'm sorry, I come from a world where it's natural to question these things. I can't just… not. It's too ridiculous."

Regina silences her own laugh as she brings their mouths together and Emma— well. Questions, hearts, that earlier mention of being in bed with Regina; her brain is pretty much goo. After this kiss, she won't be surprised if it turns into a puddle and starts to drip from her ears.

Throwing her other arm over Regina's shoulder and around her neck to join the first, Emma holds her close. She knows it's a distraction but as is always the case, Regina knows precisely _how_ to distract her and she can't find it in herself to care right now. She can search for her answers later, or not if Regina is correct and there are no answers to be had but for now, she'd much rather enjoy the moment, brief as it might be.

 

.

.

.

 

Arriving in a thick plume of purple smoke, the first thing Regina does is snort, part amusement and part irritation because _of course_ Snow White is there, in her library, to greet them all. She takes comfort in the fact that this time, at least, there aren't a dozen other eyes on her. She really must find somewhere new to go when she's seeking privacy but then, knowing her luck, Snow would probably take over that place too.

Perhaps the saccharine twit is more spiteful than she'd have given her credit for, or perhaps Snow is truly naïve enough to believe her presence is actually _wanted_ , and that's why she's always around, like the scent of something dead no one can find within the nonexistent vents of her palace walls.

The second thing Regina does is clap her hands over her ears when Snow squeals excitedly and launches herself into the arms of her father. What comfort she finds in _that_ is provided by Emma placing a hand in the small of her back. She leans into it as her hands fall to her sides and she drops her head to Emma's shoulder, the sound of her father's laughter filling her with an increasingly familiar warmth.

She cannot fault Snow her excitement. Unfortunately. They had been close once upon a time. She'd never have admitted it in her earlier days, but it had hurt her to know her father's loyalty to her had left him alone with no one to turn to whenever she was upset with him, or in a mood in general. He had Morgan, but really, she was as loyal to her as he was and how much talking might one do with the woman you know your daughter is sleeping with?

Seeing the smile lighting up his face as he hugs Snow, Regina sighs regretfully. The hand slides from her back to her hip and Emma embraces her one-armed, squeezing her gently.

Regina appreciates it. Bare minimum as Emma's understanding of their complicated relationship is, she knows enough. Regina kisses her jaw softly in gratitude and pulls away, patting the hand at her hip before Emma releases her. She turns toward the hearth, flicking her wrist and igniting the logs within.

Peering into the pitcher on the table, her assumption proves true as she picks it up and turns it upside down. A growl tickles the back of her throat but she stifles it. "Snow White, cease your blubbering and make yourself useful." She turns the pitcher upright and holds it out, waiting and ignoring the glare Snow is sending her as it's snatched from her hand.

Her father sighs as Snow storms from the room. "Princesa—"

Her gaze cuts to him, smirk falling. No way in _Hell_ is he about to scold her for that. "Unless you intend to go back to the cottage and take her with you," she interrupts, "don't you dare. If she's going to drink all my wine, the least she can do is replace it."

The fact she sounds more like she's pouting than she does irritated doesn't occur to her until he smiles in that way that lets her know he thinks her amusing. She scoffs and throws herself down on the settee. When Emma doesn't instantly follow, she scowls and flicks her wrist again, this time sending a jolt of magic snapping against Emma's leather-clad backside.

Emma yelps and much like her mother, glares at her. She glares back until Emma takes the hint, sighing as she sits down beside her.

"Was that really necessary? It hurt."

Softening, Regina turns to face her and presses forward, kissing her in apology. "If those two are going to gang up on me, Morgan will soon join them. You're all I have left."

"Gee, thanks," Emma drawls. When Regina pouts outright, she laughs, easily caving to her manipulative ways. "Alright fine, I'm on your side. Happy?" Regina grins and kisses her again before Emma murmurs, "Keep doing that and I'll never not be."

Grin widening, she murmurs back, "I'll keep that in mind."

Whispering too loudly for anyone to even _pretend_ she's trying to be quiet, Morgan says, "Does it make you want to throw up too?"

Eyes lighting upon her father, he hums in agreement but his smile says it all and Regina melts into the arm Emma slips behind her. She sends another jolt of magic to Morgan, who yelps much louder than Emma had. "Morgan," she coos sweetly. "Do shut up and sit down."

Morgan does. Muttering to herself as she crosses the room, she sits opposite them. Henry sits beside Emma and Regina shakes her head when Emma glances at her, questioning. She's happy where she is. Once Snow returns, she's confident her father will receive all the attention he requires, and more than he wants.

"You have some explaining to do, Morgan, dear."

"Do I?" Morgan asks, gaze focused on the table between them. "What explaining might that be, my Queen?"

Noting the twitch of her mouth, Regina chuckles, not fooled for a second. "You know precisely what explanation I want." She'd asked once only to be told the answer was _private_. She had let it go at the time but now— now her father is alive and she has a sneaking suspicion that is where the answer lies given neither Morgan nor her father have aged a day since she cast the curse.

Meeting her stare, Morgan counters, "Is Her Majesty so insecure in her conclusion she need confirmation, or shall I play to her ego by telling her she is right?"

"Stupid question," Emma interjects as her fingers dip beneath the hem of Regina's shirt to caress her side. "When the option exists to tell her she's right, there is no other choice."

Morgan and Regina share a grin before Regina rewards Emma with a kiss on the cheek for knowing her so well.

Rolling her eyes fondly, Morgan admits, "You are right; I— we haven't aged because of the ritual that binds us together."

Emma's head jerks up and Regina sighs, seeing her expression. "You had to word it like that?" Now Emma is going to keep her up half the night with inane questions.

Although…

Maybe she can force them to share a room until Emma gets this latest curiosity out of her system.

She eyes Emma as she considers the logistics of it. It might be worth the sleep she'll get, but— she sighs again. Emma was right more than once when she was listing all the reasons Regina loves her. Though by no means the most important reason, Emma's claim of keeping her warm is no less valid than any other.

"You're lucky—" The sound of the door hitting the wall and sight of her son prevents her from voicing the rest of the thought. Hiding her grin, she clears her throat and says, "Daddy, I believe that is for you."

He chuckles, already rising to greet his grandson. Regina notes Snow's arrival but like the rest of them, she dismisses her presence, more interested in watching her two favourite men meeting for the first time.

The way they size each other up and start to grin at one another has that ever familiar warmth growing in the pit of her stomach. She leans her cheek against the top of Emma's head as her own presses against Regina's shoulder, knowing that if she were to look, Emma's smile would match hers.

"You're my gramps?" Henry frowns before her father can respond and says, "I already have a gramps. Can I call you grandpa?"

Her father laughs heartily. "My boy, you can call me whatever you like."

"Regina?" Reluctantly tearing her eyes from them to raise her head and look down at Emma, she sees the shimmer of tears and smiles wider. "I think I'm gonna cry. Make them stop."

She smirks, bowing her head and capturing Emma's pouted lower lip in a short, sweet kiss. "If you ruin my shirt with your sniveling," she warns lowly, "I'll chain you to our bedroom wall and leave you there."

"Terrible incentive is terrible," Emma murmurs, stretching her neck and kissing her back as she tries to pull away. Regina grins. "Might as well threaten to bend me over and—"

Regina clamps a hand over her mouth, laughing. "Not the time, dearest."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll probably be moving on from all this next chapter. There might even be plot again. Gasp.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have reasons for why this took so long. Some of them are important, most of them are not. A few of them are gross. Suffice to say, my break turned into life and then I procrastinated by playing games for a week. I'm awful. We know this. Moving on.
> 
> Thank you, Danni1511, for your comment last chapter. I didn't use your idea specifically, but it did give me a location and something to work with during the second and third scene.

"Oh dear."

"Shit."

Regina bites the inside of her cheek. Watching Emma try to conjure a fireball and almost set herself on fire is more amusing than she'd have thought. She waves her hand, extinguishing the small flame licking at the hem of Emma's shirt.

Emma glances at her. "Don't think I didn't see that, woman."

"Woman," Regina repeats, feigning offense. "Do you want to sleep outside from now on?" Emma's lower lip protrudes in an exaggerated pout and she laughs, thoroughly charmed by it. "That is sufficiently—"

"Adorable?" Emma interjects. "Endearing? Attractive?" She wags her eyebrows idiotically. "Does it make you wanna jump my booones?"

Eyes darting across the garden to her father who stands not too far away watching them with obvious amusement, her budding grin vanishes in favour of a grimace. There is Snow, with her idiot Prince, ruining the moment once again. She drawls, "Not in front of the parents, dear."

Rather than turn around to greet them like she expects, Emma inches forward. Regina tilts her head, intrigued by the look of mischief she wears, before Emma winks and disappears. Regina stares at the spot where she was until she feels the arms slip around her waist and lips press against the side of her jaw.

She didn't know Emma could do that.

"How did—"

Emma interrupts. "I watch you," she says, lips warm against her skin. "I watch you _a lot_."

"You watch me," Regina repeats in disbelief, turning in her embrace. The comment would be utterly creepish given the tone she'd used, were it not so baffling. "You can't summon a fireball to save your life, but you can disappear at will simply because you _watch_ me?"

That is seven levels beyond ridiculous, and then some.

"Never seen you summon a fireball," Emma reasons with a shrug. She frowns before adding, "Which is odd considering how often you threaten to immolate people. If I didn't know better, I'd accuse you of being all talk."

Regina scoffs. Raising a hand between them, she conjures a small flame in her palm. "I can make it bigger if you like, but I wouldn't want to take the fun out of you setting yourself on fire by doing it for you."

Snorting, Emma blows on it. When it merely flickers before righting itself, she pouts again and whines, "I want a kiss. Put it out."

"Maybe I don't want a kiss."

"And maybe I'm Freddie Mercury," she counters, eyes rolling.

Regina purrs, mind conjuring an image to match the words. "I bet you'd look delicious in a leotard." She almost salivates; all of her favourite parts of Emma exposed and ready for her mouth. Yum.

"No one looks delicious in a leotard, Regina." Emma squints as if reconsidering before she says, "Except maybe you, and even then I don't want to risk being right. Finding you unattractive in anything would be all kinds of wrong and unnatural."

"You're rambling, dear." It is one of her better qualities, but still. Was there not mention of a kiss somewhere? "You should do something about that."

Emma huffs. "I'm trying but there's a flaming hand in my way."

Laughing, Regina extinguishes the fireball and Emma's mouth immediately finds hers. She melts, sinking into the kiss with a pleased hum and, as is always the case with Emma, she forgets their audience, eyes fluttering shut as a tongue slips into her mouth to tangle with her own.

"Ew."

They part, both sighing heavily. Regina presses her head to Emma's, smiling softly as Snow's voice reaches them. "True love is not ew, Henry. It is rare and special, and-"

" _And_ it's my _moms_ _kissing_ ," he argues before Snow traps them all into listening to one of her nauseating spiels about True Love that no one wants to hear (not even Charming if his slipping from sight whenever she starts is any indication) "Gross."

Emma moves her head to look over Regina's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere sucking face with Jade?"

"Emma," Regina growls in warning.

"What?"

She sighs, exasperated. "He's _ten._ "

Emma shrugs. "I was eight."

Blinking, Regina pulls her head back to look her in the eye. She didn't know that. They really should talk more. Damn distractions. "Your first kiss?"

"Yup."

Nostrils flaring, she's torn between irrational anger and, even more irrational, jealousy. "With who? I'll kill him."

Emma chuckles and squeezes her around the waist. "I know you're an omnipotent goddess and all, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you wouldn't know him if I told you."

Regina preens. Of all the things Emma has called her in the time they've known each other, that is one of her more flattering compliments. "I could find him."

Emma nods. "I have absolute faith that you would, which is why I'm going to have to pass on sharing that information."

"How dare you."

Smiling, Emma kisses her on the nose. Infuriating. "He doesn't deserve your wrath. I'll have you know, he was the cutest boy in the whole wide world. Might still be."

"Hey!" Henry shouts.

Regina turns to face him as Emma rests a chin on her shoulder and states, "You just said the love your mother and I share is ew and gross." She kisses Regina's cheek as if to comfort her nonexistent hurt feelings. "You're hideous now, you monster."

"Mom." Holding in her laughter, Regina purses her lips. His outrage is truly a precious thing. " _Mom_."

Clearing her throat, she says, "I still think you're adorable, dear."

"Traitor," Emma whispers into her ear.

"Juvenile," she murmurs, shivering when Emma sneakily bites the lobe.

"Witch."

"Dork." Henry groans his disgust of them and she raises a brow, drawling, "Did you want something, or did you simply come to ruin our fun?" Ruining Emma's fun is all well and good, but ruining hers? That has to be a crime and if it isn't, she'll make it so by decree the next time she holds court.

Henry pouts and Regina breathes out a laugh. Whereas Emma's was charming, his is manipulative more than anything and it only serves as a reminder to her that he is her son in every way that counts. Similar as he and Emma are when they're feeling playful, his mannerisms, his expressions, his _intent_ are all 100% her, proving the saying that nurture is indeed superior to nature.

"He's got you, doesn't he?" She nods, seeing no point in denying what is so very obvious. "That pout is atrocious. It's the dimples, isn't it?" Grinning, she nods again and Emma sighs. "I used to have dimples."

Patting the hand against her stomach comfortingly, Regina crooks her neck to kiss Emma's cheek. She lowers her voice to remind her, "You have far more pleasurable ways of persuading me, dearest."

Emma hums as her hand begins to move, caressing Regina's stomach through her shirt. Regina presses back against her, only slightly appalled she's encouraging her given they both are well aware of their audience and the fact what Emma is doing is a tried and true start to one of those many, many ways.

That she is sensitive there isn't something she knew until Emma came along.

"True," Emma concedes, nose burrowing into the hollow behind her ear. She nuzzles the spot, then presses her lips to it. Regina sighs, warmed by the affection. Content.

"You do have dimples, by the way." When she smiles. It is both a beautiful and arousing sight; those smiles. Their rarity is the real problem. One Regina intends to correct, slowly but persistently, whenever time allows her the chance. "When you're happy."

There's another hum, followed by another kiss before Henry's voice somehow finds its way inside their bubble again.

"Mom?"

She sighs, soft and quiet. She's not upset with him. Not really. But sometimes she finds herself wishing there were more minutes in the day, minutes she might spend with Emma without worry, hassle or interruption. "Yes dear?"

His expression alerts her to the fact she isn't going to like what he has to say next. She inclines her head, prompting him to say it anyway. The sooner she knows, the sooner she can take advantage of Emma's apparently amorous mood this afternoon.

"Rumple is here."

Or not.

"With Neal."

Her groan is one for the record books.

 

.

.

.

 

"Is this really n—"

"Yes," Emma interrupts Henry Senior for the umpteenth time, ushering him into the stables. He may not have seen it, but the look Regina gave her before she poofed herself away clearly said; get my father the hell away from here, or I will destroy you. Probably. "Incase you haven't figured it out, he's the reason your daughter tried to kill you."

"She told me before she did it," he replies, unusually casual considering.

"You are strange man, Henry." Throwing herself down on a hay bale, she stares up at him. He's been with them now for a little under a week and she's gotten to see glimpses of his relationship with Regina. It's obvious to her now that Regina's ability to hold a grudge definitely didn't come from him. "Strange, strange man."

He chuckles and leans against the stall beside her, gaze firmly fixed to the mare inside. Emma watches them, amused when it appears man and horse are locked into a staring competition. She recognizes the horse as the one Regina _tried_ to get her on once. Had they managed to make it out of the stables that day, Regina might have even succeeded.

"She agrees with me."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "She," he says, "is curious, and definitely my daughter's favourite."

"Rude."

"Horse," he elaborates, laughing loudly. Emma grins knowingly. "I can see why she loves you."

She flushes. "I'm a lucky gal."

"Yes," he agrees, finally taking his gaze from the horse to look down at her. "As is she."

Her cheeks warm further. She'd never been the kind of person who sought approval from the parents. In all her previous relationships, she'd done her best to avoid even meeting them, unwilling to suffer the questions about her life and the inevitable looks of pity once they found out she is— was –an orphan. Knowing she has his though, without trying or pretending to be someone she's not, means the world to her.

"You're all we talk about, you know."

"Really?" She'll have to tease Regina about that later. "Don't you have more interesting things to talk about?"

His shoulder rises, attention returning to the mare as he says, "I can think of nothing more interesting than the woman who taught my princess how to smile again."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Emma looks to the ground and sucks in her lower lip. She can think of plenty of things more interesting. The whole _his daughter tried to kill him_ being one of the major talking points she thinks they might like to cover at some point. She supposes they could have done that at the cabin but she wasn't gone _that_ long and, surely, that's the sort of discussion people reserve for long nights and a lot of wine, right?

Besides, she can't really take credit for teaching Regina anything. If anyone can, then it's gotta be their son. Regina had opened her heart to him long before she came along. Colossal bitch that she'd thought the Mayor was, when Henry was around and she'd catch Regina smiling one of those special smiles for him, Emma could do no more than _wish_ to someday be the cause of one.

The snarls, the sneers, glares, the burning hatred that ended in mind-numbing orgasms where, for a few minutes at least, Regina treated her as something more than an attractive yet wholly irritating inconvenience who occasionally shared her bed? _Those_ she'd happily, and honestly, take credit for.

She won't _say_ any of this. Mostly because this is Regina's father, but more importantly because Regina appears as she opens her mouth for the word vomit likely to follow. She closes it instantly, eying the newly disheveled form of her one True Love.

"Regina," she says, the question (more commonly known as a demand) in her tone.

Regina waves her off. "A slight scuffle with a tomato, nothing more," she explains. "Daddy, what are you doing to Käfer?"

Emma snorts, successfully distracted. "You named her _Beetle_ in German?"

Head slowly turning, Regina stares as she deadpans, "Had you been less concerned with tearing my clothes off, dearest, you'd have known that when I introduced you to her two months ago."

A sound, not too unlike Emma's snort, escapes Henry. He feigns innocence when Emma peers up at him but the expression cracks almost immediately and then he's grinning down at her. She grins back, unable not to when she catches sight of the smile Regina wears while watching them.

_Wish granted._

"Daddy? Käfer?"

"Oh," he says, idly stroking the horse's muzzle. "I think she's hungry." Emma conjures an apple before Regina responds, and hands it to him. "Thank you, Pequeña señora."

Her eyes widen at the endearment and her head jerks to the side. Regina laughs the second she sees her expression, her look knowing when she steps forward and bends to kiss Emma softly.

Her lips move from mouth to cheek, then to Emma's ear. "Wrong, my sweet," she purrs teasingly. Emma sighs, relaxing as the lips make their way along her jaw and back to her mouth. Regina kisses her again, then pulls back with a grin. "Little lady has a much nicer ring to it, hmm?"

Cheeks heating, Emma drops her gaze back to the floor. Of course Henry hadn't meant what she'd thought he meant. She'd heard the term before back in the other world, mostly from coworkers who talked about their wives; their 'little missus'. Emma cringes. Missus probably isn't even a term they use here.

 _Idiot_.

Regina taps her shoulder and she silently shifts to make room for her. Regina leans into her as she sits, sliding an arm around her. She nuzzles her cheek, voice low when she teases, "You can still be my little missus."

Emma rolls her eyes. As if Regina needs more ammunition to tease her with. "Don't start. I know things now," she warns. "It was a simple misunderstanding."

"Mhmm," Regina hums, amused. "And what things might those be, my love?"

"Things," Emma repeats, turning to face her.

It's a mistake. She understands this as soon as their eyes meet and she sees the way Regina is looking at her. It's all affection and love in her gaze, neither of which are conducive to Emma pretending to be annoyed with her.

Drawn in simply by the warmth of her smile, she murmurs, "Embarrassing things."

"Oh yes?" Regina chuckles, lifting a hand to cup her cheek while the other curls against her hip. "Do tell."

Emma's stomach flips at the husky tone of her voice. Head shaking, she instead gives in to her need and surges, erasing the minute space between them as she captures her mouth. Regina slides the hand from her to cheek to the back of her neck, deepening the slow, sweet kiss into something more heated— more passionate than is appropriate.

Henry clears his throat before stepping away from them. "I'll… be outside."

 

.

.

.

 

"You might want to go after him," Emma murmurs. Regina pulls back with a frown before she elaborates, "Your father? Rumple?"

"Oh." Regina sighs and rests her head against a shoulder. She could have gone at least a few more minutes without the reminder. Trust Emma to burst her bubble. "He's gone."

"Ah." A hand strokes her back, fingers dancing over her spine in a way that makes her skin prickle. "Wanna talk about it?"

 _No_.

She almost says it. Almost. "He wants me to help him."

Emma snorts and drawls, "Did you offer _him_ a deal?"

Mouth twitching, Regina shakes her head. She's never been one for deals. "I told him I would consider it _after_ he brings some of the 21 st century to this world."

A warm puff of laughter grazes her cheek, the softest of lips following shortly thereafter. "That's my girl."

She hums as she buries her face in the crook of Emma's neck, enjoying the dull throb against her mouth. It soothes what little remains of her irritation after dealing with Rumple and his spawn. She regrets not taking Emma with her, if only because it'd been a prime opportunity to further torment Baelfire. If Emma had heard some of the things he'd said to her, she doubts he'd still be breathing.

Luckily for Rumple, his outburst had cemented his fate. Before Balefire opened his mouth, she'd been conflicted. The idea of taking away someone's freewill, even if it is the freewill of someone as selfish and moronic as him, is not something she'd have considered lightly.

Faced with the self-righteous indignation of a man too self-absorbed to understand the sheer depth of the hole he was digging himself into, however, and she'd made her mind up despite what she'd told Rumple during the minutes prior when Baelfire was distracted by Snow and he'd told her why he needed the pendant.

Gathering her thoughts, she kisses the pulse beneath her lips, then raises her head. "He…"

Seeing Emma's smile causes her to falter. How she might react to the decision didn't occur to her until now. Emma claims to want to support her but that was before, when she thought she needed to conform to this world's idea of knighthood and loyalty to Queen, when swearing an oath meant a choice between obedience or death.

"What's wrong?"

How did you tell the woman you love that you're going to help a man you loath de-age his son, who you also loath, without his consent? She intends to wipe her hands of the entire affair once it is done and move on with her life, content in the knowledge that by the time anyone discovers them missing, they'll be far away in a land no one else can reach without considerable effort.

Regardless of the way she weaves it in her mind, there is no conceivable way she can say _that_ without it sounding evil or, at the very least, immoral.

"I… seem to be having a crisis of conscience. This having to consider others is painfully appalling." The corner of Emma's mouth rises. Regina frowns and forces her gaze up. "You find that amusing, do you?"

Teeth claiming down on her lower lip, Emma shakes her head. A single look is all it takes before she concedes, "Little bit." Regina glares and the grin blossoms, the mischief of the expression in sharp contrast to the hands that then loving cup her cheeks. "You," Emma says, slowly, "are Queen. How many times must I repeat this?"

Until it means something might be nice.

Rolling her eyes, Regina grips her wrists and tugs the hands from her face. "You say that now. What happens when I do something horrifically evil and you're left wondering how it is you fell in love with someone like me?"

"You say that as though I don't wonder about it already." Before she can take offense, Emma adds, "You're incredible, it's perfectly vomit inducing." Regina sighs, ready to scold her for not taking this seriously when Emma kisses her, and she sighs again. "Wanna know a secret?"

What the hell. They're already off topic.

She shrugs. "Sure, why not."

Emma laughs. "Such enthusiasm," she teases, bumping their noses together. Regina smiles because it's impossible not to when Emma is being sweet and not deliberately trying to make her throw up. "I accept you."

"That's not a secret," she counters, her cheeks warming regardless. Not a secret, but nice to hear from time to time when she finds herself forgetting. "Still?"

"Always."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little more broken up than usual. I'm sure you'll understand, and probably hate me, when you see why ;)

"Mom."

Relieved as soon as the incessant humming stops, Emma gazes back down at the book in her lap. She can't afford the distraction, not when Regina is counting on her to find this stupid spell that has been eluding them for days. She'd offered to give Henry part of her heart before she'd learned because she shares true love with Regina, it would reject the chest of anyone who isn't them and cause them both unbearable pain.

Bright side, she now knows she can share her heart with Regina if the need ever arises. She can't think of a reason for why it ever will, but it's nice to know all the same.

Turning a page, she sighs as the humming starts up again and pinches the bridge of her nose. One of these days, she is going to throttle her mother. "Mom," she growls, jerking her head up to glare across the room. "Don't you have children to teach or something?"

"Regina decided she liked the idea of summer break and demanded school be cancelled," Snow murmurs without looking up from her needlework, fingers skillfully creating what Emma thinks might eventually be a scarf.

She lowers her head to hide her grin. Odds are Regina actually decided she needed a way to kick Snow out of her library without upsetting the children. She peers up at her mother and says, "It's winter."

Snow shrugs. "According to her, it makes more sense to deprive them of the learning experience when they're at risk of freezing to death."

"Uh huh."

Reluctant as she is to believe that is the real reason, it actually does make more sense. As much as she loves the winter months, the season sucked when she was a kid; having to get out of bed early in the morning when the fog was still thick she could barely see five inches in front of her face, and the grass was still too slippery to rush too school unless she wanted to fall on her ass.

Given her foster parents who were more often neglectful than not, she'd slept in a lot, which meant she'd fallen. A lot.

There was little more embarrassing, as a kid, than arriving at school with wet ass cheeks.

Children were assholes.

Shuddering, she forcefully shoves the memories from her head. "Alright," she says, because it's easier to concede with her mother when it comes to Regina than question her extreme obliviousness. "Why aren't you with dad?"

Or anywhere that isn't with her, really. She might not be anywhere near as homicidal as Regina, but _damn_ , does her mother know how to bring it out in a person.

"He chose bonding with Henry and his namesake over spending time with his wife." Emma snorts. She doesn't blame him but when Snow suddenly glances up, she feigns innocence and a sweet smile. "You're not fooling anyone."

She flutters her lashes, making Snow laugh, before she closes her book. "Come on," she says, resigned to the fact she won't be finding that spell for Regina any time soon. "You can finally stop harping on about how great a marksman you are compared to Ralph and teach me yourself."

Putting her needles aside, Snow stands as she says, "You do know that isn't his name."

"Yes," Emma admits, "but annoying him when he gets pissy with me is almost as much fun as annoying Regina, pissy or otherwise."

"Fair enough."

Smiling, she leads her mother from the sitting room and out into the cold, cold morning.

 

.

.

.

 

As her child and his grandfathers come traipsing into the kitchen through the servants entrance, Regina recoils from all three. Not only do they smell absolutely foul, but their expedition out into the forest had proven fruitful if she were to judge by the blood on their clothes and their idiotic grins.

Appetite now nonexistence, she backs away from them and upon noticing her retreat, her father's grin widens as he takes a step towards her. She threatens him, not with words or burning gaze but the crackling of fingertips bathed in magic. His laughter can be heard, she's certain, for miles around.

Preoccupied with ensuring there remain distance between them, she doesn't see the younger version until it is too late. He's wrapping around her before she can do anything more than gasp and demand her release _this instant_. Her indignation only causes all three of them to laugh, her father even louder than before.

Silently and to herself, she swears revenge while using her magic to douse both her and her son. Hair slick with water and pasted to his forehead, Henry stares up at her, his grin almost large enough to stretch the entire length of his face. She shakes her head, quickly drying them both and changing their clothes with another flick of her hand.

"You are in big trouble, little man," she warns as she playfully pinches his cheek. His eyes widen comically and his lower lip trembles. She laughs, releasing his cheek and patting it fondly. "You're as bad as your mother."

He beams and she cups the back of his head, holding him to her as she looks up at the two men who now watch them, their smiles almost matching. She rolls her eyes, able to hear their thoughts as clear as if they'd spoken them aloud.

"You both stink. Go and shower."

Charming perks up, reminding her of Emma when she'd emerged from her first shower in months. "They're finally done?" She inclines her head. "Awesome."

He dumps all of his gear in the corner and promises to come back down to clean it up before he rushes upstairs, gone before she can chide him for setting a bad example. She glances back down. Her brow speaks volumes as Henry sighs and reluctantly lets her go, ambling to the corner to retrieve what gear he'd used before he rushes back outside.

"It warms these old bones to see the wonderful mother you've become."

Affection and pride fill her chest, but she wasn't born yesterday. "Well then you've no fear of freezing when you take those warm, old bones outside to help your grandson," she drawls with a pointed look to the corner.

Her father heaves a sigh, following in his grandson's footsteps. As he retrieves his half of the remaining gear and walks to the door, he comments, "Had I known I'd regret not doing so, I'd have taken advantage of the servants when you were the Evil Queen."

Surprised, she stares at his back until it disappears behind the now closed door. His playful tone said he meant no offense but to be compared to the Evil Queen, and then to be found lacking, even in such an insignificant matter, by her own father; _that_ is offensive, surely.

Or, perhaps, she wonders, she should find it flattering?

Regina hums thoughtfully. There is some merit in believing the man who suffered the most from her past can tell the difference between the two. That he is then able to tease her with it…

Either way, it's clearly been far too long since he'd last seen the inside of her dungeon. Evil Queen or no— father or no; such backtalk. What kind of Queen would she be _not_ to punish him for it?

Mouth twitching with a grin at the thought, she dismisses thinking about it further for the time being. She was in the middle of something when the three of them barged in.

Looking down at the food she'd been preparing, she sniffs the air and regrets it instantly. The scent of blood and fish fill her nose, the taint of it sticking in the back of her throat. With a shudder, the food disappears at the flick of her wrist along with Charming's gear. She leaves a note on the door to tell him where it is before she conjures a mirror to hand and searches for Emma.

Seeing where Emma is and with whom, her mouth twists with a frown. She'd been avoiding going outside all morning, having zero reason to leave the warmth of her palace. She had even less reason to subject herself to Snow White— less now that Emma has likely informed her mother of her own obliviousness.

Watching Emma alter her stance and relax enough to pull back on the bow she's wielding, Regina waits until she fires and the arrow is halfway to the target before she gestures, summoning it to her hand.

Her grin returns when Emma suddenly spins around, confusion staining her brow and worsening when she doesn't spot Regina nearby. It is only seconds before she hands the bow to her mother and although Regina can't hear what she says to Snow, it's clear from both expressions that Emma is coming to find her, and her grin widens.

Vanishing from the kitchen, she reappears in their chamber just as the warning plume of Emma's own magic swirls beside the bed. She throws herself down onto the bed before it dissipates, leaving behind a very annoyed looking Princess.

"Regina," Emma growls.

Smiling innocently up at her, she purrs, "Yes, my sweet?"

Green eyes widen and snap down, then narrow as Emma studies her. Regina stifles a moan when her tongue darts out to wet pale, pink lips.

"Trying to seduce me?" Emma raises a brow with the question and Regina laughs.

"Oh, my dearest of loves," she coos, "since when have I ever needed to try?"

Emma tilts her head, proving Regina's point as her eyes rake the length of leather-clad legs and those same eyes darken. "I was busy," she states, voice already deepening with the beginnings of lust.

"I noticed," Regina admits, smirking as she leads those eyes to her chest with no more than the stroke of her finger. Emma sighs knowingly before meeting her gaze, questioning silently. Regina pouts. "I was hungry," she explains, "perfectly willing to let you freeze to death while I ate, and then your son came barging into the kitchen and completely destroyed my appetite with his stench and grubby little hands."

"My son, hmm?" She nods and Emma grins as she crawls onto the bed. "So, _my_ son ruins your meal and you decide to punish _me_ for it?"

Rolling to her back as Emma climbs on top of her and straddles her waist, Regina cocks an eyebrow. "Punish you?" she questions, part in disbelief but mostly in amusement. "Am I to take that to mean you would rather be cold, outside, with your mother than warm, in bed, with me?"

"Well," Emma drawls, fingers already working the buttons of her blouse open. "When you put it like that…"

 

.

.

.

 

"Your idea was much better than mine."

Emma rolls her eyes, though her smile remains as she pops a piece of fruit into her mouth.

All she'd said was that Regina should conjure what she wanted because then they wouldn't have to leave the bed or dress for whichever of the servants were tasked with bringing their food up to them. How that then translated into Regina's head in her lap while she fed her bits from the platter beside the bed, Emma isn't even going to pretend to understand.

They're both exhausted, neither wanting to move beyond what they've deemed necessary. Emma sat up because if she'd stayed lying down, she'd have fallen asleep. Regina rolled into her lap because she wanted to keep her close and it required the least amount of effort.

As a mouth replaces the hand caressing her thigh, Emma settles her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. Understanding or not, she has no room or reason to complain when this is how Regina chooses to reward every bite.

When the mouth leaves her thigh and Regina demands more, she reaches blindly for the platter. She plucks the first thing she touches from it and brings it to her lap.

"Down," Regina croaks and Emma lowers her hand, stomach fluttering as that warm, wet mouth wraps around her fingers. Regina sucks briefly before she releases her with a hum and says, "That gave me a rather delicious idea of my own."

Emma shifts, the move having brought a very specific idea to her mind as well. "Yeah?"

Silence her only answer, she forces her eyes open and when she looks down, her mouth dries at Regina's grin. "Why don't we regain our strength, then see what else I might enjoy putting in my mouth, hmm?"

 

.

.

.

 

"There you are." Turning from the balcony overlooking the field where Emma has returned to training with her mother, Regina tightens the robe around her waist and eyes Morgan with interest. Morgan looks her up and down before she smirks, averting her gaze. "Why is it that I can always catch you two being all cute and gross, but I never walk in when you're ravaging each other?"

"You did once." Minutes prior, she had also tried to kiss her. Regina doesn't need to say it to know from her guilt-stricken expression, Morgan's mind goes there regardless. "I would wager a guess that the reason, however, has something to do with you knowing better than to enter my chambers unannounced."

Expression blanking, Morgan faces her and questions, "Do you realize how absurd that sounds? _I_ know better? I was joking before, but clearly your age is—"

"Finish that sentence," Regina warns, "and you will be joining daddy dearest in the dungeon." Assuming she can ever find him again. He has been conspicuously absent since this morning.

Morgan grins. "Already?" She appears suitably impressed when she asks, "How did he manage it before me?"

Eyes rolling, Regina turns back to stare out at the open field. She knows better than to answer that. "Have you learned anything, or should I send you back to the Dark One to try again?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Morgan comes to stand beside her, elbows on the railing as she bends forward and peers down at the people below. Emma and Snow have drawn a crowd since Regina last looked. "If you're content to believe him, then the magic in the pendant cannot be replicated."

"But?"

"But," she continues. "If you're willing to put faith in the only person besides your mother who has actually _used_ the pendant…"

Regina sighs at her pause. She should have expected this after sending Morgan to Rumple. She didn't understand the annoyance she'd seen until Morgan had already left. Not having magic of her own and not all that confident Morgan would even know what she was talking about, it didn't even occur to her to ask before Emma pointed out the obvious to her.

"I apologize," she says, hoping she sounds at least somewhat contrite. "I admit, I should have spoken to you before him." She likely should have gone to him herself as well. "And for sending you to begin with."

"I didn't mind that bit," Morgan admits, straightening as she turns and leans back. "The magic in the pendant is a result of your mother travelling to different realms and absorbing the things she found. I don't think the pendant itself matters, but the strength of the magic it contains. If what you've told me is true, then Emma might be able to recreate it for you."

Reluctant but intrigued, Regina asks, "Why Emma?"

"Your mother was incapable of wielding light magic but the pendant allowed her to… circumvent certain rules." Morgan sighs, crossing her arms as she goes on to explain, "It was a gift from the White Witch after Cora tricked her into believing they were friends, or so she claimed. She never told me how she did it, but I was able to perform the ritual to save Henry because I'd seen her do it a dozen times or more with her guards. She would bind the hearts of those loyal to her to the ones who were… hesitant to take her oath after she'd crushed theirs. I imagine she stopped after your last visit."

Regina smirks. She had killed numerous guards before she was able to reach her mother's throne and stop her from successfully crushing Morgan's heart. She'd seen additional guards fall, none of them anywhere near her enough to have been affected by her magic. She'd been too distracted at the time to wonder why, but it certainly makes sense to her now.

"I wish you'd told me sooner, I'd have killed even more of them."

Morgan chuckles before responding dryly, "I was a little preoccupied at the time."

Joking, Regina sniffs and says, "I didn't ask for your excuses."


End file.
